


A Little Wounded

by Salvia_G



Series: A Little Wounded [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dwobbits, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epistolary, Gen, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G/pseuds/Salvia_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world in which the Dwarves settled in Moria following the battle of Azanulbizar, and invited Hobbits to come live (and breed) with them there, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire comes to the mountain to solve the great mystery of his childhood...and finds more than the answer to that mystery while he is there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I own nothing, not Tolkien's lovely _The Hobbit_ nor the Peter Jackson films inspired by the book; and I am grateful to be able to play in Middle Earth's playground too.

_In the year 2799 of the Third Age, the Dwarves who had been driven out of Erebor by Smaug the Firedrake met the Orcish army at the eastern gate into Moria:  Azanulbizar in their language.  While the Dwarves triumphed over the Orcs, it was a Pyrrhic victory:  the Dwarvish losses had been devastating, and included both their king Thror and his son and heir Thrain._

_Thus it was that Thorin II (known as Oakenshield after the battle of Azanulbizar) came to be ruler over the Dwarves of Erebor, and it was the first decision of his reign that came to be a crucial turning point in Dwarven history.  Rather than retreat from the battlefield, Thorin remained encamped at Moria, and the Dwarves cautiously began to re-enter the ancient city of Khazad-dûm._

_The Orcs gave little resistance but continued to flee before the Dwarves, until the Dwarves might say that Moria was theirs once more.  However Thorin II and his council realised that their colony faced another threat.  Many Dwarves had been lost in battle, and Dwarves are a people at times more given to their craft than to families.  Few Dwarves of Erebor, now the Dwarves of Moria, remained; but the Dwarven population must grow, and grow more quickly than ever before, if Moria should survive.  The limited influx of immigration from the Blue Mountains and the Iron Hills was not enough._

_It was in the year 2803 that Thorin ordered the Dwarves to take the controversial step that would forever change the face of Dwarfdom in Moria:  he sent envoys to the fertile Shire, to ask if any Hobbits would be willing to come to Moria to join with the Dwarven colony there.  While many in the Shire would not leave it, some of the more adventuresome (see notes, re Took) were willing to consider this new venture.  Hobbits and Dwarves were found to crossbreed with ease, and with the introduction of ‘Dwobbits,’ as they came to be known, Moria’s population grew geometrically._

_Khazad-dûm grew to become a great city once more, with a smaller sister city of Hollin, populated by Hobbits, outside the western gates into Moria, the Doors of Durin.  The Shire remained the primary habitat of Hobbits, but trade in Dwarvish implements and a small but steady stream of continued immigration to the mountain strengthened the bonds formed in the 2804 Treaty of the Brandywine._

_The population problem was not the only one of Moria’s difficulties in these years, of course; indeed some eighty years after the Treaty of the Brandywine the Dwarves faced a threat just as great if not greater, and it was again only with the help of others that the Dwarves were able to remain in Moria at all.  That challenge, however, is outside the purview of this work, which is concerned primarily with the joint development of Khazad-dûm/Hollin and its effect on Dwarven culture and society.  This effect can primarily be seen by comparing the culture that developed in Moria to that of the Iron Hills..._

 

_Excerpted from From Smaug to the Shire:  an Historical Account of the Culture of Moria_

 

***

 

It was a rare thing for a Baggins to come to the mountain; in fact, Bilbo Baggins, Hobbit of the Shire, was only the second to do so in the over one hundred years since Hollin had been founded; and this was the first time that Bilbo had left the Shire at all.  So it is perhaps no surprise that Bilbo trembled as he stood at the edge of the mountains of Moria; and that his voice shook as he turned to his cousin Sig, but in fact his nervousness had nothing to do with either of those things.

 

“What if she doesn’t want me?  What if that’s why she didn’t come home to the Shire with me and Da?”

 

Practical Sig shrugged.  “Then you know, and she’s not worth a single seedcake; but you can still go to Rivendell and see Elves:  so there’s that.”

 

Bilbo looked at Sig.  “I don’t feel any better,” he said.

 

“No,” said Sig.  “If you wanted smooth words you should have asked Flambard to come.”  That pulled a wry smile from Bilbo.

 

“Him, I would have lost to the Elves _if_ he made it past the angry husbands in Bree.”  Bilbo knocked Sig’s shoulder with his own.  “Thanks for coming.”

 

Sig nodded.  “Ready?” he asked.

 

“No,” Bilbo replied.  Together, they began the climb to the West-Gate of Moria:  the Doors of Durin.

 

Bilbo tried not to stare as they passed through the gate.  From what he had heard of Erebor, these were not so large or impressive; but Bilbo found the doors impressive enough.  Nothing in the Shire had inlay so fine, and since the Dwarves and Hobbits had joined in treaty, many fine Dwarf-made items made their ways there.

 

It was mostly Dwarves that they saw, but there were Hobbits here and there.  Bilbo wondered if they would be able to recognize a Dwobbit if they saw one, and then he thought he did.  He tried to nudge Sig subtly, so as not to be noticed. 

 

“Do you see the girl in the yellow dress?” he asked in a low voice.  “With the green trim?  Do you think?”

 

Sig looked.  Bilbo nudged him again.

 

“Don’t stare,” he said.

 

“All right, all right,” Sig said.  “I’m just trying to see.”  He looked for a moment more, but didn’t stare so much.  Bilbo tried to observe the girl as well.  She had the bare, hairy feet of a Hobbit; but the braids that held back her hair exposed what seemed to be rounded ears, and her build was stocky rather than plump.

 

“I think she must be,” Sig said.  “And there, look there.” 

 

Bilbo slapped down Sig’s hand.  “Don’t point!” he said, exasperated.  “We may be bumpkins from the Shire but we needn’t be rude.”

 

He did look at the older gentle-hobbit—well, gentle-dwobbit, he supposed—to whom Sig had pointed.  He was booted, so they couldn’t see his feet, and he had the thick build of a Dwarf; but his features were those of a Hobbit, including the pointed tips of his ears.  Bilbo realised that many they had passed that he had thought Dwarves or Hobbits might actually have been Dwobbits.  The differences were harder to notice than he had thought they would be; and though each had a mix of characteristics, most seemed to favour one parent strongly.

 

As for them, they received curious looks from some, but nothing more.  Bilbo supposed they were just two more Hobbits in the mix here.  As the gate opened out into a cavernous hall, Bilbo stared.  How was he to find his mother in this immense city? 

 

Bilbo looked to Sig, who sighed and stepped in front of a passing Hobbit, a prosperous-looking elder.

 

“Pardon me, sir, but we’re looking for my cousin’s mum,” he said.  “Any idea who we can go to?”

 

The Hobbit looked at Bilbo.  “Who’s your mother, lad?” he asked.

 

“Belladonna Baggins,” Bilbo replied.

 

The strange Hobbit shook his head.  “None here by that name, and I would know.  There aren’t so many Hobbits as that here.”  He paused for a moment.  “No Bagginses at all, I believe.”

 

Bilbo thought for a moment.  “Née Took,” he said.

 

“Oh,” the Hobbit said, and suddenly looked very keen.  “Bella lives down in Hollin; just look for the smial with the green door.”

 

Bilbo thanked him and turned; and but for the stranger’s grasping his coattails, would have been trampled by a procession of very finely dressed Dwarves indeed.

 

A dark Dwarf with a silver streak in his hair, dressed in blue and wearing a silver coronet, moved past without any sign that he had seen the small cluster of Hobbits at all.  He was deep in discussion with an older Dwarf, dressed all in red, with a gold medallion on a thick chain tucked under his white beard.  The rest of the Dwarves passed by in a blur, though Bilbo was vaguely aware of a young blond one also wearing blue grinning at him from the tail of the group.

 

Their Hobbit guide let go of Bilbo’s coat.

 

“Here now,” he said.  “Don’t trip the king.”

 

“Don’t trip the king!” Bilbo sputtered.

 

The Hobbit laughed.  “He doesn’t look where he’s going,” he said, and bowed.  “Isengrim Took, at your service.”

 

Bilbo and Sig bowed.  “Tooks all round, it seems,” said Sig.  “Sigismond Took, at yours.” 

 

Isengrim looked expectantly at Bilbo.  “Bilbo Baggins,” he said.  “At your service.”

 

“Bella’s son,” Isengrim said.

 

“Bella’s son,” Bilbo agreed.

 

Isengrim linked elbows with Bilbo and Sig. 

 

“And I believe that makes me your Uncle Isengrim,” he said, “As Bella Took’s my sister.  And I’m sure you boys could find your way to Bella’s door on your own, but where’s the fun in that?”

 

And indeed, Isengrim escorted them back through the gate and down the road the few miles to Hollin.

 

“Most pure Hobbits live here,” he said.  “And Dwobbits are divided pretty evenly between the mountain and here.  Depends on what the mother is, mainly.”

 

“Do the families not all live together?” Sig asked.  “You make it sound as if mother and father live apart.”

 

Isengrim nodded.  “They may,” he said.  “Which is not to say that many a happy marriage doesn’t work with two homes; and some that begin that way in the end choose one way or the other.  But the Dwobbits are mostly with their mothers in those families that live apart.”

 

“It seems very strange to me,” said Bilbo, “but I cannot imagine living under the mountain should it be me, so...”

 

“Just so,” said Isengrim.  “Some don’t mind as much as others, but some have a strong call to their traditional way.”

 

He seemed to hesitate a bit.  “Your mother is one of the ones who can’t live under the mountain, either,” he said.

 

“Of course not,” Bilbo said.  “She’s all Hobbit.  And why should she?”

 

But before Isengrim could answer, they were there.  Looking at the garden and the green door set in the hill, Bilbo could see the reflection of home.  Da must have been thinking of here when he built Bag End for him and Bilbo.  It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was a clear cousin.

 

Bilbo turned to Isengrim.

 

“Thank you for your help,” he said.  “I hope we shall see you again soon, though I do not know how long our stay will be.”

 

Isengrim seemed on the verge of saying something, but then shut his mouth and nodded.

 

“At your service,” he said, and waved goodbye as he went back the way they had come.  Before he had taken more than ten steps, however, he turned back.

 

“If you like, come by my place for tea tomorrow.  Or...just if you need to.  I am in New Took Smials.”

 

Bilbo and Sig nodded, and waved goodbye, then turned to open the garden gate.

 

Sig placed his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and squeezed, a little.  Bilbo was glad he didn’t say anything.  He didn’t know if he could speak right now.  They stood for a minute in front of the green door.  After a bit, Sig reached forward to knock, but Bilbo batted his hand away.  He would do this.  So he took a deep breath, and knocked on his mother’s door—the mother he had not seen since he was a fauntling.

 

A brief time went by with no answer, and Bilbo knocked again.  Perhaps she had been in the back of the smial and not heard.  And then he did hear feet coming quickly, and a voice through the open window calling, “Coming!  Nobody wants burned biscuits, you know!”

 

And then the door opened, and there was a Dwobbit in her tweens on the other side.  Bilbo looked, but Isengrim was already out of sight.

 

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said.  “I must have the wrong smial.”  It had said B. Took on the mailbox, but most of those who had come to the mountain were Tooks.

 

“Who are you looking for?” she asked.  “Everyone knows everyone in Hollin.”

 

“Belladonna Took,” Bilbo answered.

 

“No, you’re in the right place,” the Dwobbit replied.  “That’s my mother.”

 

Bilbo couldn’t have heard right.  “Your mother?” he asked.

 

But the tween had already turned away.  “Mama!” she called.  “It’s for you!”  Then she turned back to Bilbo and Sig.

 

“Come in!” she said.  “I guess I don’t have to tell Hobbits to leave their boots at the door.”  She gestured them into the smial, and Bilbo stumbled inside.

 

“Are you from the Shire?” she asked.  “I suppose you must be, or I would know you; but we don’t have many visitors from there.”

 

A Hobbit lady entered the parlour then; she was older, but still pretty, as Bilbo remembered her.

 

“Amy, where are your manners?” she said.  “Have you even offered our guests some tea, or did you simply begin to interrogate them?”  And she turned to Bilbo and Sig, and shock covered her face.

 

“Bilbo?” she said.  “Oh, Bilbo!”  She came towards him, her arms outstretched, but Bilbo took a step back.  She stopped short with a hurt look on her face.  “Will you not greet me?” she asked.

 

Bilbo nodded at the tween.  “Your daughter,” he said.  He was glad his voice did not break.

 

His mother—it was his mother—bit her lip and nodded.

 

Bilbo nodded in return, turned, and fled the smial.  He could hear Sig hurrying to catch up, but Sig could never catch him if Bilbo didn’t want to be caught.  After a while, the road entered farmland; and then after another little while, the forest began.  Bilbo stopped there to wait for Sig.  He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it had not been this.  He wanted to throw something, or fight someone, or scream.  He kicked a tree.  It felt good, so he tried it again, and again, and again until Sig arrived and made him stop.

 

“Shh,” Sig said.  “Stop that.  Your foot’s bleeding.”

 

“She’s a whore,” Bilbo said.  “My mother stayed here instead of come back to the Shire so she could whore herself out to some Dwarf.”

 

Sig rubbed his back.  “You don’t know that,” he said.  “You don’t know why she stayed.”

 

Bilbo stared at Sig.  “Did you see that girl—that Amy?” he bit out.  Tears rolled down his face and he made no effort to stop them.  “She’s a tween, Sig, a tween!”  He hid his face in his hands.  “And my father still lives.”

 

Bilbo didn’t know how long they sat there; but when twilight began to fall, Sig chivvied him up and back down the lane towards the town.

 

“I won’t go back there,” Bilbo said.

 

“I don’t think you have to now,” Sig answered, “though I think you should before we go home.”

 

Bilbo only shook his head.

 

In the end, they decided to look up New Took Smials to find Isengrim Took.  He might tell them where an inn was, or else where they might camp for the night.  Bilbo wanted to start for home in the morning, but Sig only said they’d talk about what to do then.

 

Isengrim himself answered the door to his smial.  “Ah,” he said when he saw them.  “I was afraid of that.”  And he ushered them inside.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and his mother's daughter meet again, and this time she brings friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to put the usual disclaimers about how I own nothing you recognize, so here it is: J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have created and interpreted these characters, and I do not profit at all from this work.
> 
> In addition, the title comes from a line of John Dryden: "A Little Wounded, but I am not Slain."

 

 

Though Bilbo and Sig tried, Isengrim would not hear of them staying in an inn or camping, but insisted they stay with him. 

 

“I owe you boys, and I am your uncle, after all.  I’m sorry, Bilbo; didn’t think to mention it, I suppose.”

 

Sig looked at him in disbelief.  “You didn’t think to mention it?  You must have known from the very start!”  He shook his head.  “You knew what he would find there.”

 

“Well, I hoped the children would be with their father.  I thought it was his day,” Isengrim said.  “But I’m a coward and no mistake.  I was so excited to surprise Bella, and then I realised... Shire folk sometimes don’t understand the mountain ways.”

 

Bilbo looked blankly at his hands.  “Children,” he said.

 

Sig shook his head.  “I’ll say Shire folk don’t understand the mountain ways,” he said.

 

“I’d like to go to bed now,” Bilbo said.

 

Isengrim sighed sadly, but showed Bilbo and Sig to the guest room they would share.  Bilbo lay on his bed with his back to Sig, but he did not sleep for a long time.

 

In the morning, things looked no better to him.  Sig took one look at his face and sighed.

 

“Shall we leave for Rivendell today?” he asked.

 

“I think I just want to go home,” Bilbo answered.

 

First breakfast was a very quiet affair.  Isengrim seemed not to know what to say, and Bilbo did not want to talk, and Sig read his moods well enough.

 

Afterwards, Isengrim hesitantly offered them his guest room for as long as they wanted it.

 

“Thank you,” Bilbo said.  “I think we’ll leave today.”

 

Sig shook his head.  “We’ll need to go to the market for supplies first, Bilbo,” he said.  “We don’t have food enough left for the journey home.”

 

“The market then, and then we leave,” Bilbo answered.  He paused for a minute.  “And when we get back to the Shire we tell my da we couldn’t find her.”

 

Isengrim tilted his head.  “Do you think he doesn’t know?” he asked.

 

“I don’t know what he knows,” Bilbo said.  “But he doesn’t know child _ren_.”

 

So Isengrim gave them directions to the market, though they refused his offer to walk them there.

 

“I can’t really like any of them,” Sig said, “and I feel bad saying it about family, but there you are.  I look at the Dwobbits now and...Well, I just don’t know what to think.”

 

“Don’t you?” Bilbo asked.

 

“They can’t all have husbands or wives in the Shire,” Sig replied.

 

Bilbo said nothing.  They had reached the market.

 

If he had been in a better mood, he thought he would have found the market fascinating.  There were many Dwarves with amazing wares, from toys to jewelled combs to blades.  Hobbits mostly had the food stalls, and that was where Bilbo and Sig needed to go.  They had just bought a bag of apples and turned to the next stall for hard cheese when they saw her—the Dwobbit who was his mother’s daughter.  She was buying bread across the way, and laughing with a young Dwarf when she saw him too.  Bilbo turned away but it was too late.  She marched across the aisle, grabbed his shoulder to stop him, and then slapped his face hard.

 

“Whoa, now,” Sig said, and stepped between her and Bilbo; and “Amy!” exclaimed the dark-haired Dwarf who was with her; but Bilbo only put his hand to his cheek.

 

“You made my mother cry!” she snarled at him.  “She hid in her room and cried the rest of the afternoon.”

 

Bilbo didn’t answer her and tried to turn away again, but she grabbed his sleeve.

 

“I’m not done with you,” she yelled.  “What did you do to her?”  A small crowd had gathered to watch the show, Bilbo noticed.  He flushed with embarrassment.

 

“Go away!” he hissed at her.  “You’re making a scene!”

 

“I don’t care, you prissy Shireling!” she cried angrily.  “I’m not going anywhere until you answer my question!”

 

Bilbo clenched his jaw.  The _harpy_ —he turned on her.  “You were there,” he ground out.  “You saw; I did nothing but stand there; she only looked at me and remembered what she is.”

 

Her eyes narrowed.  “And what is that?”

 

He leaned into her face and Sig must have seen something, because he said “Bilbo—“ with a warning tone in his voice, but Bilbo said it anyway.  He was too angry to care what this harridan thought, or the Dwarf with her, or the entire crowded marketplace.

 

“A whore,” he spat at her contemptuously.  “And she knows it.”

 

Sig exhaled, and stepped between Bilbo and the Dwobbit again, while she turned white and the Dwarf with her gave a start.

 

“You are speaking of her mother!” he protested.

 

Bilbo looked at him, then back at her.  “And mine too,” he said, and pulled Sig with him as he walked away.

 

The harpy—his sister—only stood and watched him, her face flushed with anger, as her friend tried to talk to her.  Though he only looked back once to know as he fled the market.

 

They retreated to Isengrim’s smial with their business at the market unfinished; but Bilbo would not go back and Sig would not leave him alone, so they would have to stay another day in Hollin.  It was with some difficulty that Sig convinced Bilbo to sit out in the library rather than retreat to their room again after elevenses, and even then they sat in silence.  After luncheon, though, Bilbo returned to his bed and didn’t leave it until Isengrim came to him a little before teatime.

 

“You have visitors,” he said.

 

“I can’t,” Bilbo answered him.  “I don’t know anyone here.”

 

Isengrim stepped inside and closed the door behind him.  “I know this has been a shock for you, nephew,” he said.  “But you must understand that things are different here.”  He huffed, and shook Bilbo’s shoulder gently.  “And I won’t let you hide away here until you leave.  You’re leaving soon enough as it is.”

 

Bilbo looked at the wall.  “Who is it?” he asked.

 

“Come and see,” Isengrim told him, and then he left.

 

Bilbo laid there a minute more, and then he got up.  A check in the mirror revealed that his eyes were just as red and swollen as they felt.  He brushed it aside and went out to Isengrim’s sitting room.

 

It was Amy; and she had two Dwarves with her now, the dark one from before holding one hand, and a blond one on her other side.  She tilted her chin up defiantly when she saw him.

 

“I had Kili follow you,” she said.  Kili must be the dark-haired Dwarf.

 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Bilbo replied.

 

“You have no right to judge my mother,” she continued, and then took a deep breath.  “Our mother.”

 

“Don’t I?” Bilbo asked.  He admitted that she was brave but he could not like this girl.  He hated the very sight of her.

 

“Things are different in the mountain,” the blond Dwarf said.

 

Bilbo did not look at him but at Amy.  “Mothers abandon their fauntlings here, then?”

 

“No!” Amy cried.  Her eyes shone, and she blinked quickly to hold back tears. 

 

Bilbo pressed on.  “Mothers let their children go without word for two decades while they raise another family with another father?  That is how things are in the mountain?”  He sat back.  “I wish I had never come, and I wish you would leave.”

 

Tears did roll down Amy’s face then, and she turned into the blond Dwarf’s shoulder.  Nevertheless, Bilbo heard a muffled, “You are my brother.”

 

“I can’t do anything about that,” Bilbo said.  The dark Dwarf—Kili—stirred.

 

“That was cruel,” he said.  “Is that how you speak to a sister in the Shire?”

 

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“I think you ask much of me, to accept this with equanimity,” he said angrily.  He blinked, and he knew that he began to cry too.

 

“It is not Amy’s fault,” chided the blond one.

 

Bilbo laughed, but it was an unhappy sound.  “Look at the difference in our ages,” he said.  “My father and I left for the Shire when I was five.  Can you truly tell me it is not her fault?”

 

Sig stirred then.  “Bilbo,” he said.

 

Bilbo shook his head.  “I cannot do this,” he said.  “It is too much to ask of me!”  Sig came to sit by him and put an arm around his shoulders.  “I cannot do it!” he cried.  They all sat in silence then, but for the sound of Amy and Bilbo’s weeping.

 

After a while, when Bilbo had no more tears to cry, Sig said gently, “She is not to blame for what your mother did.”

 

Bilbo looked away, and met the blond Dwarf’s eyes by accident, and looked away again until he found a window to look out of.

 

“I wish I had never come,” he repeated.  He looked to Amy.  “I do not know what to say to you.  I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

 

Amy sniffed into her handkerchief.  “I don’t know either,” she said.

 

“We leave tomorrow,” Bilbo said.

 

She looked up at him then.  “So soon?” she asked.

 

He only looked steadily at her.

 

“Please, at least come speak to Mother,” she begged.  “You did not see her.  She was so unhappy.”

 

Bilbo laughed again.  “Do you think she will be happy after speaking with me?”  He huffed.  “Look how happy it has made us!”  After a moment, he continued; and he tried to speak gently.  She was just a tween, and Sig was right:  it was not her fault.  “I had questions when I came,” he said, “that I did not know how she could answer.  I do not think I _want_ to know the answers now.”  Kili began to speak, and Bilbo glared at him.  “I don’t really care how different things are on the mountain.”

 

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Kili protested.  Bilbo looked at him, eyebrows raised.  “All right, it was what I was going to say.  But there is also this:  you have Amy, and you have another sister, and a younger brother who you have not met.  Would you leave without doing so?”

 

Bilbo could not answer.  Finally he said, “I will think on it.” 

 

Amy straightened a little.  “Will you call on us tomorrow?” she asked hesitantly.

 

“I have said I cannot see her,” Bilbo sighed.

 

“No, come to the mountain, to our home there,” Amy said.  “You will not have to see our mother.”

 

“Can we not meet here?” Bilbo asked.  “I don’t particularly want to meet your father, either.”

 

“He will not be there,” Amy said.  “If you come for elevenses, he will be gone to work; and he will not return until dinner time.”

 

Bilbo looked at Sig, who nodded gently.  “How will I know where to go?” he asked.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo goes to the mountain to have tea with his sister and has an unexpected encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Elizabeth_Blossom (she knows why).

 

 

Mid-morning the next day, Bilbo and Sig began the trek to Khazad-dûm once more.  Bilbo found it hard to believe that it had only been two days ago they had gone for the first time; he felt a hundred years older.  He found he could not admire the construction of the incredible city this time around.

 

“You realise we will have to stay another day,” he told Sig.

 

“I know,” Sig said.  “But the Shire will still be there.”

 

“Perhaps we might go to Rivendell after all,” Bilbo suggested.

 

Sig smiled.  “There’s the Bilbo Baggins I know,” he said.

 

Their directions led them through the city and down to the Dwarven training grounds.  As they passed the grounds, Bilbo noted that the king sparred at swords with a large Dwarf covered in tattoos.  He elbowed Sig.

 

“Look,” he said, “but for Valar’s sake don’t stare.  There’s the king.”

 

“Are you sure?” Sig asked.

 

“Hard to forget someone who almost stomps you flat,” Bilbo replied.  He met the eyes of the tattooed Dwarf and quickly looked away.  That was a scary fellow.

 

As they circled round about the back of the open training space, however, Bilbo could feel eyes on him; and sure enough, when he risked a glimpse the Dwarf was watching.  He turned back to the king only when the king gently rapped him on the side of the head with the pommel of his sword.

 

As Bilbo and Sig reached what appeared to be the living quarters of the guard, he felt a tap on his shoulder.  When he turned, it was the big tattooed Dwarf.

 

“I think you’ve probably lost your way,” he said. 

 

Sig looked at their directions.  “I don’t think so,” he said.  “It should be that one there with the crossed hammer and war axe on the door.”

 

The Dwarf narrowed his eyes.  “And why would you be going there?” he asked.

 

Bilbo tilted his head.  “I don’t see why it’s your business,” he answered.  So far the manners of the mountain continued to disappoint him.

 

He wished he had not been so flippant when the big Dwarf took a step forward and loomed over him.  “If you visit my family,” he said, “it’s my business.”

 

_His family_ —Bilbo looked at him then, and opened his mouth, and Sig put his hand over it.

 

“We met Amy yesterday,” he said, “and she invited us to elevenses today.”

 

The Dwarf— _this_ _Dwarf_ —didn’t seem to find that enough of an answer.  “She said nothing to me,” he said, and now there was some growl to his voice.

 

But then the door to the—what was it?  Not a smial—opened, and Amy stepped out, and paled to see Bilbo and Sig speaking with the Dwarf who must be her father.

 

“Adad!” she said, looking nervously to Bilbo,  “What a surprise!  You never come to elevenses!”

 

He turned to her.  “Amethyst,” he said. “What made you think that you might invite two strange hobbits into our home without my knowledge?  Without my permission?  _And_ at a time when you know that I am not there.”

 

She rolled her eyes.  “They are perfectly safe, Adad,” she said.  “And Fili and Kili are here to chaperone; so even if they were a threat, I should be safe.”

 

“Yet they are strangers, and you deliberately deceived me,” the big dwarf said.  “I cannot like it.”

 

Amy bit her lip, but said nothing.

 

“Well, daughter?” he asked.  “Will you not introduce me?”

 

Amy wrung her hands and looked pleadingly at Bilbo and Sig.

 

“Sigismond Took,” Sig said.  His voice shook nervously.  “At your service.”

 

Bilbo pulled Sig’s hand off his mouth.

 

“Bilbo Baggins,” he said.  “At your service.”  He paused.  “I need not ask whose service—“ and Sig’s hand was on his mouth again, but Amy’s father’s reaction was all Bilbo had wanted:  he turned pale, and he looked shamed, and when he bowed and spoke, this big Dwarf’s voice shook.

 

“Dwalin,” he said.  “At—at your service.”

 

Bilbo pulled Sig’s hand away again.  “No thank you,” he said, and turned his back on Dwalin to face Amy.  Better her than this adulterer.

 

“Amy?” Dwalin asked bemusedly.

 

“I’ll speak to you later, Adad,” she said.  “Right now I’m having my brother for elevenses.”

 

Bilbo shook as he followed her into her home, but it was from fury, not fear.

 

After they were inside, Amy shut the door quickly and leaned against it.

 

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said.  “He’s usually gone by now.”

 

“What happened?” Kili asked from over in the next room.  Bilbo could see him through a wide archway, playing with a toddling little Dwobbit.  It must be Fili then, who sat on a nearby sofa, as did a young Dwobbit.  Bilbo did not know enough to guess at his age.

 

“Adad happened,” Amy replied.

 

“Mahal!” Kili exclaimed.  He looked Bilbo and Sig over.  “Yet you survive, with no visible wounds...”

 

Amy made a face at Kili.  “What would he do?” she asked.

 

“What does he usually do to any he thinks a suitor?” Fili asked her in return.

 

“I’m not exactly that, am I?” Bilbo said.

 

Kili’s eyes widened.  “You _told_ him?” he sputtered.

 

“He was the one who wanted to be introduced,” Bilbo replied.  He still floated on a wave of anger, but he was all that was polite when he turned to Amy and bowed.  He was a guest in her home, and he would be a Baggins.  “What a delightful home!” he said.  “Where shall we sit?”

 

Amy gaped a little at his abrupt change in manner, but gestured him into the sitting room where the others waited.

 

“Fili,” she said, “will you do the introductions, while I fetch the trays from the kitchen?  Kili, I could use your help.”  So she and Kili departed, and Sig and Bilbo were left with a Dwarf they had met yesterday under the worst circumstances and two children.

 

Fili, it seemed, was entirely up to the challenge.  He lifted the little one off the floor.

 

“Bilbo Baggins,” he said, “may I present Calin son of Dwalin,” and he gestured to the young boy, “and Esmeralda Took,” and here he gestured to the toddler in his lap.  “Usually known as Esmie.” 

 

“Hello,” Bilbo said.

 

“Calin, Esmie,” he continued, “your older brother, Bilbo.”   Esmie seemed preoccupied with trying to wriggle out of Fili’s arms, but Calin’s eyes narrowed a little.  Bilbo was forcibly reminded of his father.

 

“Why don’t we know you?” he demanded. 

 

Kili and Amy returned from the kitchen then, each laden with a tray piled with food.  It seemed Amy intended a complete Hobbit elevenses.  Amy’s eyes pleaded with Bilbo.  _She has Hobbit eyes, anyway_ , he thought.

 

“I’ve been living in the Shire,” Bilbo replied.  “This is my first visit to the mountain.”  That seemed to satisfy Calin, who turned to Amy and Kili.

 

“Scones _and_ fairy cakes!” he exclaimed.  “You made a proper tea today, Amy!”  Amy blushed, but hurried forward to the table with the trays.

 

Elevenses was both like and unlike what Bilbo had expected.  Some of the foods were the same:  scones with butter and jam, and a sharply cheddared cheese, and tea; but some were different:  fairy cakes, which Bilbo usually thought of for tea, and a spread Bilbo had never had before that Amy said was sausage, and a cheese that was new to him too.  Conversation was very polite and very stilted.

 

Eventually Calin said something.  “Why are you all so dull today?” he complained.  “No one is talking of anything interesting at all.”

 

Amy shushed him.  “We have guests, Calin,” she scolded.  “Be polite!”

 

“They’re boring guests, then,” Calin whined.  “All we’ve talked about is how lovely the city is and whether it will rain later or not!”

 

Amy pleaded with him.  “Please stop it, Calin,” she said.  “ _Please_ behave.”

 

“I don’t see why I should,” he pouted, “when you are all so dull.”

 

Amy seemed near tears, and Bilbo had cried enough yesterday.

 

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked.  “What do you usually discuss, then?”

 

“I don’t know,” Calin said sulkily.  “Interesting things.”

 

“I’m afraid I haven’t been here long enough for anything interesting to happen to me yet,” Bilbo said.  “You will have to tell me something interesting about you.”

 

Calin looked at him curiously.  “Adad is teaching me how to use an axe,” he said.

 

Bilbo winced a little, but he said, “I met your Adad earlier, and he seemed quite formidable.  You must be learning quite a lot.”  And then Calin was off, and he talked about everything from that point on from his lessons on the axe to the snails he found in the garden last week to his friend Millin’s new conkers.  The rest of them had only to listen.

 

After the meal, when Calin ran to get his conkers to show Bilbo (who had admitted to some expertise), Amy thanked him.

 

“You were very kind to him,” she said. 

 

Bilbo looked at her, and smiled, a little.  “It’s not his fault,” he said.  “And he’s just a child.”  He put aside his pride enough to say, “And I apologise for how I spoke to you yesterday.  It’s not your fault either.”

 

Amy looked down.  “I was very unkind to you,” she said.  “Adad—“ she stopped a moment, then continued, “Adad says I have a temper.”

 

Kili snorted.  “He’s not the only one who says it.”  And indeed, Amy’s eyes flashed up at him, but she bit back whatever retort she had.  Kili, however, saw.  “Oh ho!” he cried.  “On your best behaviour for big brother?  After yesterday at market I think you will not fool him!”

 

Fili reached across the table to slap Kili’s head.  “You are a guest,” he said.  “Do not insult your hostess.”

 

Kili turned to him in disbelief.  “My hostess?” he exclaimed.  “It’s Amy!”

 

“And today she is your hostess,” Fili returned.  “Behave yourself.”

 

Sig turned to Bilbo.  “It’s like sibling row, redux,” he said.  “A bit different from us.”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo said, and Sig seemed to realise what he had said.

 

“I’m sorry, Bilbo,” he said, “I didn’t think for a moment.”

 

“That’s all right,” Bilbo replied.  “It was very different for me, growing up.”

 

The table grew very quiet then, until Bilbo said, “But I won’t talk about the weather anymore; I can’t stand it either.”

 

Fili tilted his head and smiled at Bilbo.  “You know, yesterday, I thought you were the biggest prick I had ever met.  But you’re not bad, are you, Bilbo Baggins.”

 

So elevenses turned out to be not so bad after all.  And they would not leave the mountain the next day, either, for Fili had convinced them to speak to him and Kili about the Shire tomorrow. 

 

“I have known that things were done differently there,” he said.  “I begin to see that it is not enough to say ‘our ways are not the same.’  I should like to know the way things are done in the Shire.”

 

But when Bilbo and Sig said their goodbyes, his mother was waiting on the bench by the door, Dwalin’s arms around her shoulders.  Bilbo could see that she had been crying.

 

Bilbo grabbed Sig’s arm and pulled him past his mother.  Fili and Kili, who had been following them out the door, stopped short.

 

“Please, Bilbo,” his mother cried.  “Please, won’t you speak to me?”

 

He shook his head but would not look at her.

 

“I can’t,” he said.  “I don’t know what I can say to you.  I don’t know what you could say.”

 

“Please, Bilbo,” she pleaded.  “It’s—“

 

“Don’t say it’s different at the mountain,” Bilbo warned her.

 

“He means it,” Kili added from the doorway.  “I really wouldn’t.”  Fili groaned and twisted Kili’s ear.

 

“Our apologies,” he said to the training grounds at large.  “I think Uncle is expecting us.”  With a quick nod to Bilbo and Sig, he pulled Kili past them and hurried away.

 

Bilbo heard Calin ask, “But why shouldn’t he talk to Mother?” before Amy pushed him back and shut the door.

 

Dwalin sighed heavily.  “I don’t know what your father has been telling you, lad—“

 

Bilbo rounded on him.  “He has said nothing to me!  He has said nothing against her for twenty-eight years!”

 

“Didn’t he know you came?” his mother asked.  Bilbo nodded.

 

“I could see he did not want me to, though he would not stop me.”  He wiped at his eyes.  Why was he not done with crying?  “I thought he worried for my safety on the road.”  He exhaled noisily.

 

“Lad, won’t you come back inside?” Dwalin asked.  “If nothing else, you may go back to the Shire with all your questions answered.”

 

Bilbo only looked at the ground and tried to leave, but Sig pulled back on him.

 

“Bilbo,” he said.  “I think you’ll be better for it.”

 

He looked at Sig.  “What can she possibly say?” he asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Sig said.  “But you won’t know unless you stay.”

 

Bilbo clutched tight to Sig’s hand.  “You too,” he said.

 

“Me too,” Sig agreed.

 

They turned, and Bilbo nodded shortly at his mother.  She seemed to sigh in relief, and reached for him; but Bilbo stepped back.

 

“I’ll follow,” he said, and he did, following behind as first his mother, then Dwalin, entered the rooms.

 

Amy saw them come in, her eyes wide, and ushered the younger Dwobbits out through the doorway to the kitchen.

 

They went into the same sitting room where they had had elevenses.  Bilbo sat stiffly on the edge of his chair.  He wouldn’t start this.

 

After several uncomfortable minutes, Dwalin stood.  “Sigismond, was it?” he asked.  “Would you like a tour—”?

 

“No,” Bilbo said.  “He stays.  You may go if you like.”

 

Dwalin looked to Bilbo’s mother, who reached out her hand to him.  He sank back onto the coach next to her, and they sat there, holding hands.

 

His mother took a deep breath.  “I do not have the words to tell you what I felt when I saw you in my smial,” she said.  “I have never felt so—to see you grown, and such a handsome Hobbit.”  She began to cry.  “I have missed you so, all these years; my firstborn child—the shock, the happiness to have you there—“  She sobbed.  “I have always thought of how I wanted you with me.  I thought of how Bungo had wronged me,” she cried.  “I did not realise until the moment you stepped away from me how badly I had wronged you.”

 

Bilbo shook his head in disbelief.  “You did not realise,” he said.

 

She shook her head.  “I suppose I did not want to realise.”

 

“It did not occur to you as you waved goodbye to your husband and a five year old fauntling, a cuckolding Dwarf’s Dwobbit in your belly?” he accused.           

 

His mother sobbed out loud, and Dwalin glared at him.

 

“Is any of that not the truth?” Bilbo asked.

 

“I do not say it to be trite, Master Baggins,” Dwalin said.  “But things are different in the mountain.”

 

“I believe my parents were married in the Shire,” Bilbo replied.

 

They sat in uncomfortable silence once more, until Dwalin broke it.

 

“When we asked, after Azanulbizar, and the first Hobbits came to the mountain,” Dwalin said, “we thought they would live with us under the mountain as Dwarves do, in Khazad-dûm.  But we soon learned that only worked for a few.  Hobbits need breezes and sunlight and green and growing things.  And of those Dwarves who tried the other way, many found they needed the stone walls and ceilings of our city.”  He paused.  “So many of our families became thus:  two homes, one in Khazad-dûm, one in Hollin.”

 

“That doesn’t really explain adultery,” Bilbo said.

 

Dwalin visibly restrained himself.  “I am not done,” he growled. 

 

Bilbo raised his eyebrows.

 

“We found that our families grew more...fluid,” Dwalin said.  “And it was good for the lines, to mix so...it is not necessarily encouraged, but it is not looked down on, here in the mountain.  Some families have more than one father or mother, or some fathers and mothers have several families.”

 

Bilbo looked from Dwalin to his mother but did not speak.

 

“When we first came here, I thought as you do,” his mother said.  Her hands twisted in her lap.  “But I found the Dwarves and their culture fascinating in a way your father did not, so I spent much time here while he was in Hollin.  And I helped an old friend from the Shire, Gandalf the Grey, with...well, with several different things.  I met Dwalin on one of those adventures.”  She began to cry again.  “When your father learned I was with child, he would not stay.”

 

“To be your Hollin family,” Bilbo added.  “I think I see,” he said.

 

Dwalin roared.  “You’ll not speak to your mother so!”

 

“You haven’t seen anything,” Sig muttered.

 

Bilbo felt cool rather than furious for the first time since he had stepped inside that green door.

 

“You raped her?” he asked Dwalin.  His mother gasped.

 

“I would not!” Dwalin growled back.

 

“Then she is equally responsible,” Bilbo replied, calm as the wide Brandywine, and he stood.

 

His mother looked at him, tears streaming down her face.  “Can you not forgive me?” she begged.

 

Bilbo moved to go, but Sig intervened.

 

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he said, “but knowing Bilbo and having met your daughter, and being a Took myself; I think you might do well to let his temper cool.  Maybe come by your brother’s in a day or two.”

 

Bilbo looked at him.  “Tomorrow I’m leaving for Rivendell,” he said.

 

Sig shrugged.  “Well, maybe,” he said.  “We still haven’t finished buying provisions. And we did promise Fili and Kili we would tell them of the Shire.”

 

As they walked away from the training grounds, Bilbo shook in reaction.  “I hate them both,” he told Sig.

 

“It’s hard,” Sig said.  “From the Shire’s perspective, what she and Dwalin did is pretty bad, no matter how it’s seen in the mountain.”

 

“Not Dwalin,” Bilbo said.  “No mistake, I don’t like him.  But no.  I meant her and Da.”

 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Sig said.  “I’m sorry.”  They walked the rest of the way to the gate in silence.

 

“I’m glad you came with me instead of Flambard,” Bilbo said.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Sig teach Fili and Kili of the Shire, and learn more about the mountain as well.

 

 

Bilbo was not sure how to explain the Shire to someone who had never been there, but he and Sig had agreed to try.  Fili and Kili were to meet them at Uncle Isengrim’s after luncheon.  Their tutor would find them if they stayed in Khazad-dûm, they said; and this was more important than tutoring.  Their eyes were bright and their grins mischievous when they burst in his door.

 

“It’s a tradition, you see,” Kili explained.  “He tries to teach us, and we try to escape.  I’m afraid to say that usually he wins; he knows the ways of Moria well.  But he does not win today!”

 

“Don’t you have school with other students too?” Sig asked.

 

“No,” Fili replied.  “It’s just the two of us, because our hours are so unpredictable.  Most do go to school rather than have a tutor.  But we came to learn of the Shire, not to teach you of Khazad-dûm.”  And he and Kili filed obediently into the library and sat at attention, for all the world like first year students on the first day of class.  Sig and Bilbo looked at them, and then each other, and began to laugh.

 

“I see how it will be,” Kili told Fili.  “We will be the best of students, and they will make fun of us.”

 

“No, no,” Bilbo said.  “We will be serious, but it is hard to know where to begin.  We have only just come to Hollin.  How can we know all the differences?”

 

Fili smiled at him.  “Simply tell us of your Shire.  We will have to see any differences on our own.”

 

Sig turned sober then.  “I will just say it straight out, as we all already know it, and we don’t need to dance around it:  one big way the Shire is different is that families are made of a father, and a mother, and however many children, and of course grandpapas and grannies and cousins; but one Hobbit would not have two different families at the same time, with two different husbands or wives.  If a Hobbit’s spouse dies, he or she may remarry and have a second family that way; but that is all.”

 

Bilbo felt a little shaky to hear Sig explain this, but he was right:  it must be said.

 

“I think you do understand that part, and if you don’t mind I’d rather talk about something else instead; unless you have questions,” Bilbo said.

 

Fili and Kili seemed subdued, and shook their heads.  Fili seemed to want to speak, but he refrained.

 

Bilbo sighed.  “Go on,” he said.

 

“It is only that I think what happened to you is _not_ the usual way of things here at the mountain, either.  I have never heard of such a thing,” Fili said.  “Families may sometimes have their jealousies, or siblings fight, but mostly they seem to work.  At least, it has seemed so to me.”

 

Kili nodded.  “It’s hard to know, I suppose, if you’re not in the family.  But I think the mountain would be a much unhappier place if all families had such hidden problems.”

 

Bilbo nodded.  “I think—well.  I thank you for trying to explain it to me.”

 

Sig clapped his hands together.  “So.  Now that is done with, let’s talk about letter writing, and invitations to tea.”

 

Fili quirked a smile, and Kili made a show of coming to attention again.

 

“Truly, it’s very important,” Bilbo chided.  “For if you invite too many, you may not have enough cakes.  And if you invite friends who are fighting, or courting the same lass...”

 

And so they whiled away the afternoon, with much laughter, and Bilbo felt almost that he was back in the Shire in his own comfortable Bag End, making two new friends.

 

***

 

The next morning, Sig and Bilbo went to market again, and returned to find Uncle Isengrim’s parlour full of guests.  His mother was there, and Dwalin; but so were Amy and Fili and Kili.  As they walked in the door, Bilbo heard Dwalin say, “No, your Uncle’s not pleased, but he knows what it’s like when families clash.  He’ll just have to do without me until Bella doesn’t need me.”

 

But the room fell silent as they saw Bilbo and Sig.  Uncle Isengrim stood.

 

“Well, you’re very popular today, boys!” he said.  “I’ll go see if those ginger biscuits are ready.”

 

“Coward,” Sig mouthed to Bilbo; but he thought Kili at least saw, because he snickered, and perhaps Fili too, judging by the quirk to his mouth.

 

Bilbo thought his mother would begin, but she and Dwalin deferred to Fili and Kili, and thus Amy as well.

 

“We hoped you might join us,” Fili said.  “We’d like to show you Khazad-dûm.”

 

Bilbo shook his head, but Sig said, “We’d love to!  When?”  When Bilbo glared at Sig, he added, “Well, I’d love to, and I’ll make Bilbo come.”

 

“Rivendell?” Bilbo asked.

 

“Will still be there,” Sig answered.  “But we have come all this way, and I would like to see more of the city than the Doors of Durin and the training grounds.”

 

“After luncheon?” Fili suggested, and Sig agreed, and Bilbo said nothing; so Fili and Kili and Amy filed out.  Only his mother and Dwalin remained.

 

“You go to Rivendell?” she tried.  “You will find it lovely, I think; I did.  You must tell Lord Elrond you are my son.”

 

Bilbo stared at her and scoffed.

 

His mother paused, and seemed to gather her courage to continue.  Her every feeling seemed to show on her face, as Amy’s did.  He wondered if his face was so transparent.

 

“I am sorry,” she said.  “I cannot wish that I did not have Amy and Calin and Esmie; but I am sorry for what I did to you.”  Her voice broke.  “I—“ and she turned to Dwalin.  He nodded lovingly at her, and squeezed her hands; and she turned back to Bilbo.  “I would like to start over,” she said.  “I cannot bring those years back, but I would like to be a mother to you now.”

 

“I am thirty-three,” Bilbo said.

 

“A Dwarf is still a child at thirty-three,” Dwalin said.

 

“But a Hobbit is an adult,” Bilbo returned.  He looked at his mother—no, at Belladonna.  “You cannot be my mother,” he said.  “I do not know you; my few memories of you are dim and faded things, from before I was five.  You have allowed me to grow to adulthood without you, and here I am; nothing can change it.”  Tears rolled down Belladonna’s cheeks as he continued, and perhaps down his too.  “You chose; and I am sorry for it, but I cannot see a way for it to be different.”

 

“It was your father’s choice too,” she sobbed.

 

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed.  “And I hate him for it as well.”

 

Belladonna fled.  Dwalin stood to follow, but stopped for a moment at the door.  “I have never known a Hobbit as bitter as you,” he said.

 

“How many Hobbits have you known whose mothers abandoned them?” Bilbo asked civilly.  Dwalin sighed and left.

 

Sig and Bilbo sat there for a time, until Uncle Isengrim crept back from pretending to get the biscuits.  He took one look at them and hurried back down the hall.

 

“We can leave for Rivendell this afternoon if you like,” Sig said.  “I’m sure Khazad-dûm can’t be as grand as folks say it is.”

 

“No,” Bilbo said.  “My favourite cousin wants to see it, and he’s been putting up with a lot lately.  Rivendell will still be there a few days from now.”

 

When the time came to meet Amy and her friends, the brothers Fili and Kili, at the gate, Bilbo wanted to beg off; but Sig would not go without him, so Bilbo dragged himself along.  It was a lovely autumn day, blue-skied and brisk, and he did feel a little better for the walk.

 

“You haven’t been walking enough,” Sig observed as they reached the gate.  “You look better for it.  We might take our bows out to the forest tomorrow, too.”  Bilbo looked at him.  “If we don’t leave for Rivendell, of course.”

 

“What might you do if you don’t leave for Rivendell?” Amy asked.  She and her two dwarves were waiting just inside the Doors.

 

“Go out to the forest,” Sig answered.  “It’s been a lot, these past days; and I thought perhaps we’d try for some rabbits.”

 

Kili’s interest was almost tangible.  “Slingshot or bow?” he asked.

 

“Bow,” Sig answered.  “Bilbo probably prefers a slingshot, but on the road we’ve been using our bows; and that’s what I like best.”

 

“Why bows on the road?” Kili asked, intrigued.

 

“Arrows are lighter than stones,” Bilbo replied, and they laughed, all five of them; and Bilbo thought it felt like the first time he had laughed since his thirty-third birthday, when he had become an adult, and left on this journey to the mountain.

 

Khazad-dûm was majestic; it was the only word for it, and Bilbo was glad Sig had made him come after all.  Fili and Kili, it seemed, had some connection to the royal family, and included some rooms in their tour that Bilbo was sure were not open to the public.

 

“Is it not overwhelming?” Bilbo asked Fili.  “To live here, amidst this opulence?”

 

“I don’t know,” Fili said.  “It is all I have known.  I was born here, and I have lived here all my life.”

 

“How old are you?” Bilbo asked.

 

“I am sixty-six,” Fili said, “and Kili is sixty-one.”

 

“Older than me but not adult,” Bilbo smiled.  “It is funny to think it.”

 

“I suppose,” Fili said.  “If I did not see you first as Amy’s brother, than I might see it that way.  You do not seem any older than me.”

 

“I may be Amy’s brother, but I am still a grown Hobbit,” Bilbo argued.

 

“I know it,” Fili shrugged.  “But I feel your equal, as I feel I am Amy’s older brother as well, if only in spirit.”

 

“How came you to know Amy?” Bilbo asked.  Fili looked aside.

 

“My uncle and her father are friends,” he said.

 

“Ah,” Bilbo replied.  He let the subject drop.

 

The tour of Khazad-dûm ended with them in Fili and Kili’s private apartments, a suite of rooms Bilbo knew he could not find again without a guide.  They were as rich as anything Bilbo had seen in all of Khazad-dûm, but they were very messy; Bilbo thought the contrast so funny he found it difficult not to laugh, and then he caught Sig’s eye, and they both were laughing.  Kili flushed a bit, and Fili made a face.

 

“What?  You Hobbits never have a smial that isn’t quite neat and perfectly clean?” he mock growled.

 

“No,” Bilbo said.  “Never!”

 

Sig hooted.  “Well, that’s the Baggins in you,” he told him.  “Hobbits can make a mess, especially Tooks,” he told the brothers.  “But I think you have made it an art!”  He tugged on a piece of clothing that looked suspiciously like smallclothes, hanging from the arm of a gem-encrusted statue in the corner.  Kili turned even redder, grabbed them out of his hands, and ran from the room, picking up clothes as he went.

 

Fili began to laugh as well.  “I suppose we are rather awful, aren’t we?” he asked.

 

“No,” Bilbo said.  He pointed to the statue.  “That thing in the corner is awful,” he said.  And then he pointed at Fili.  “ _You_ are a natural disaster.”

 

Nevertheless, a table was found and tea was produced, though it was a strange smoky tea, served with no sweets, only very bitter pickles, a seedy bread, butter, and more of the sausage spread from yesterday.

 

Amy sighed when she saw it.

 

“Sorry, Amy,” Fili told her.  “You know how my mother feels about Hobbit tea.”

 

“At least she’ll have tea served,” Kili added.  “Some Dwarves still don’t,” he told Sig and Bilbo, “the ones without many Hobbits in the line.”

 

“And you don’t have many Hobbits?  In the line?”  Sig asked.  “Does that mean in the family?”

 

“It does mean the same,” Fili answered, “and we have none.  Mother was one of the early Dwarves, and already betrothed to another; and Uncle has not married; and of course we are too young yet.”           

 

“Your mother was one of the early Dwarves?” Sig exclaimed.  “She must have been full young to be betrothed!”

 

Fili and Kili exchanged looks.  “Yes, she was,” Fili said, but that was all.

 

They parted in good spirits, agreeing to meet early in the morning for a hunting trek.  Kili said he knew good hunting grounds that few used, and he was fond of his bow as well.  Amy would not come, for she said she could not leave her schooling again on the morrow; and Fili said he was awful with a bow, and must meet with his uncle anyway; so it would only be Kili and Sig and Bilbo.

 

“Do you not have schooling as well?” Sig asked Kili as they parted. 

 

Kili grinned.  “I do,” he said.  “But I have an easier time getting out of it than Fili, as he’s...older.  And I am helping to host guests from the Shire, which I have convinced my tutor is good practice for later!”

 

“Good practice for later?” Bilbo raised an eyebrow.

 

Kili flushed.  He seemed to do that often, Bilbo thought.

 

“Yes,” he said.  “Uncle often has guests, and we must help him entertain them, as he has no wife.” 

 

“Or husband,” he added as an afterthought.

 

Sig stopped walking.  “Is that common here?” he asked.

 

“Not common, no, but not looked down on either,” Kili replied.  “Is this another way the mountain differs from the Shire?”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo said.  “It is not done in the Shire.”

 

***

 

Later, in the privacy of their room, Sig spoke.

 

“It seems in some ways you might be more comfortable here,” he said.

 

“Perhaps,” Bilbo replied, shrugging.  “Either way I must face one of my parents almost every day, and right now seeing my da again seems the worst part of returning to the Shire, not that.”  He laughed.  “Maybe you will have to leave me in Rivendell and go home on your own.”

 

“Fili is a handsome fellow,” Sig said.  Bilbo hit his arm.  “Did you think I didn’t see?  I know you too well, cousin.”

 

“Now is when I want Flambard instead of you,” Bilbo said.  “Nothing will come of it.  Do you not realise?  Their mother was an early Dwarf, already betrothed?  They are closer to the throne than they admit.”

 

Sig was quiet.  “They said their uncle is not married.”

 

“All the more reason they will have to marry, and marry for children,” Bilbo said.  “Sig.  Their uncle is the King.”

 

Sig stared.  “No,” he said.  “It is not so.”

 

“It is,” Bilbo replied.  “For some reason they do not want us to know it, but it is the truth.”

 

Sig lay back on his bed and was silent for a while. 

 

“Fili—“ he began.

 

“Fili is the heir,” Bilbo said.  “His uncle has no children.  He will be the next King under the Mountain in Khazad-dûm.”  Bilbo lay back as well and looked at the ceiling.

 

“It is not too bad,” he added.  “I have just met him.  I barely know him.”

 

“But you like him,” Sig said.

 

Bilbo was silent.

 

“I am sorry,” Sig added.

 

“I as well,” Bilbo replied.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From early morn at the mountain to late night in Hollin.

 

 

In the early morning, things seemed better to Bilbo.  He had slept well, and he had needed it; and he did like hunting with Sig.  He hoped Kili was fun when hunting as well, and not too serious about it; but Kili did not seem the sort to be too serious about anything.  There was no chance of seeing either Belladonna or Fili, so his poor heart might rest a while with friends.

 

It was dark as Sig and Bilbo made their way out of Hollin.

 

“Where do you think we go?” Sig asked Bilbo.  “Do you think the king has reserved hunting grounds?”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo replied.  “That was the final proof.  No other could have lands kept for only his use—his and his family.”

 

“Will you tell them we know?” Sig asked.

 

“They want to keep it secret,” Bilbo said.  “I see no reason not to let them.”

 

“It seems like a lie,” Sig protested.

 

“If it is, it is not our lie,” Bilbo replied.

 

Soon enough, they found Kili waiting in the predawn. 

 

“This way,” he gestured to them, and led them up a rocky trail along the mountainside.  It was hard to see, and Bilbo wished for a light as they followed Kili, but he seemed to have no trouble with the way.           

 

“Dwarven eyes must be better than Hobbit eyes, in the dark,” he said.  Kili seemed chagrined.

 

“Oh,” he said.  “I should have brought a lantern, but I did not think... I think they are better in the dark; though once the sun begins to rise, we shall be equals, or you may better me.  Hobbit eyes are sharp in the daylight.”

 

“So long as we can follow you now and not tumble back down the path,” Sig joked, but Kili truly seemed upset.

 

“I should have thought of it,” he said.  “I am sorry.”

 

“Don’t think on it,” Bilbo said.  “We have done fine so far, and it does grow lighter.”

 

Kili sighed.  “You are kind, but it does not, not yet.  I am an idiot.”  They continued in silence for a while.  “I do not know Hobbits that hunt with the bow,” he said.  “Only some, and not really friends.  Those who are my friends, like Amy, do not care for it.  Most Dwarves prefer their axes or swords.  I was too excited to have company to think.”

 

Sig chided him.  “You should not hunt alone,” he said.  “It is not safe.”

           

Kili chuckled.  “Safe enough, this close to Khazad-dûm.  And Fili will come with me; but he _is_ terrible with a bow and scares everything away.  And speaking of scaring our prey,” he said, “we must be silent now, and move as quietly as we can, as we come to our destination soon; and it will truly begin to be dawn.”

 

“Few are quiet as Hobbits,” Sig answered him.  “You are the one who must take care.”

 

“Well do I know it,” Kili replied, and then they were quiet.  They had been moving through forest, but came now to a place where it broke away into meadow.  Bilbo could hear the rushing of a small stream.  Kili motioned them to positions in the trees near the edge of the woods, close enough that they might not endanger each other with their arrows, but with enough space between that each might have his own aspect on the meadow.  They waited.  Bilbo could hear movement in the woods, and ahead in the meadow; but he could only see vague shadows as yet.

 

But as the light rose, Bilbo could see that rabbits moved in the grasses, and a small group of deer came carefully to the rill.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sig draw his bow, and Kili pulled back his string as well.  Both aimed for the deer. 

 

Bilbo sighed inside.  _I am sure I am the worst shot of all of us,_ he thought.  _Why must they leave the rabbits to me?_   Still, he drew back his string, and aimed for a fat bunny in the closest group of rabbits.  When he heard the first twang of bowstring, Bilbo released as well; then quickly loaded again for another shot, but he was too late.  All the coneys were gone:  fled or hid from the hunters, though Bilbo was pleased to see he had his rabbit, and that it had been a quick kill through the heart.  He hated when they were only wounded.

 

Sig, of course, had his deer; and Kili had his as well.  They checked with Bilbo to see his bow was down, and then moved into the field to check their kills.  Sig’s was dead, as was Bilbo’s rabbit; but Kili had to put down his deer.  He was unflinching, but he did not seem to enjoy it either.  Bilbo was impressed to see it.  They hung the deer, and Bilbo brought his plump little rabbit along back down the path.

 

“We will have nothing else this day,” Kili said.  “Not until the smell of the blood fades, and the memories.”

 

“How will we bring down the deer?” Sig asked.

 

Kili paused.  “I know some Dwarves who will help,” he said.  “I will ask for help delivering it to you tomorrow, after it is fully butchered.”

 

Sig and Bilbo exchanged looks.

 

“Will you come now, for first breakfast?” Kili asked.  “It is hard boiled eggs and scones and fruit, usually.  If we are lucky the scones may be warm; it is yet early.”

 

“I must take my coney down to Uncle Isengrim’s to clean,” Bilbo replied regretfully.

 

“The kitchens could do it,” Kili suggested.  “And you could pick it up before you go back.”

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes, and Sig laughed.

 

“The kitchens?” he said.  Kili seemed to realise that he had given something away.

 

“Mother has a cook,” he admitted.  “Or maybe two.  And one for pastries, I think.”

 

Bilbo only shook his head; how Kili kept any secrets he did not know.

 

“Very well,” he said.  “First breakfast at Uncle Isengrim’s is only toast with butter and jam and tea.”  He paused.  “You will have tea?” he asked; and it was Kili’s turn to laugh, and promise that there would be tea.

 

Fili and Kili’s quarters were cleaner than they had been the day before, Bilbo noted with amusement; and Kili saw his smile.

 

“We cleaned after you left,” he said.  “Mother will not let—Mother makes us do it ourselves; and so often, as you saw, it does not happen.  But we were rather shamed to see it through your eyes.”  He ushered them through one of the wide archways Dwarven architecture seemed to favour.  “Here, this way,” he said.  “And give me your rabbit.”

 

Kili left them in a small room, though it had a high ceiling, in which there was a round table with several chairs around it; and disappeared through a stone door.  Bilbo noted that the edge of the table had a mithril filigree which matched the one decorating the carving on the chairs.  It was the hammer and anvil of the line of Durin, and the stars of Durin’s crown that decorated the Doors of the West-Gate.  He drew his finger along it.

 

“I cannot believe I did not see it,” Sig said.

 

“Did not see what?” Fili asked.  “Good morning.”  He stood in the archway behind them, his blond hair tousled, all braids gone.

 

“Did not see the rabbits this morn,” Sig lied smoothly.  “I had a deer, but one coney is not really enough for stew.”

 

Bilbo clapped him on the back.  “We’ll have it Da’s way,” he said, “with sausage and duck and white beans.”

 

Sig made a show of disappointment.  “I suppose,” he said.  “Though I did want a nice Shire rabbit stew.”

 

Bilbo pinched him, out of Fili’s sight.  _That was a bit much_ , he thought.  But Fili seemed not to notice anything odd in Sig’s demeanour.  Perhaps he was still too sleepy.  Perhaps he did not know Sig well enough as yet.  Bilbo carefully looked at the edge of the table to remind himself not to look at Fili, fresh from his bed.

 

Fili yawned, and sat.  “T’was a good trip, then,” he said.  “And Kili?  No rabbits for him?”

 

“Another deer,” Sig replied, with a look to Bilbo.

 

“Oh, good,” Fili said.  “We will keep some venison here then, and not send it all to Hollin with you.  But Bilbo, you must be proud, and not too disappointed; for it is not easy to take a rabbit; harder than those two with their deer.”  Bilbo looked up, and Fili smiled at him.  _Damn_ , Bilbo thought.  _We do not leave for Rivendell soon enough_.  He looked back down at the filigree.

 

But then Kili returned with a tray that did carry scones; and if a servant followed him into the room with a larger tray, Bilbo and Sig did not say a word; and Bilbo only traced the edge of filigree on his chair below the table, where it could not be seen.

 

“You see that you could have come with us,” Kili accused Fili as they fought over the last scone.

 

“It is not that I could not come,” Fili said, “but that if I did, I would be falling asleep later, when I met with our uncle and his—friends.”

 

Sig sighed, and looked to Bilbo, but Bilbo shook his head.  If Fili and Kili wanted to tell them, they could.  They could at any time.  He realised for the first time that Amy must have collaborated with them in this, but he dismissed it.  They had long been her friends; and she had met Bilbo only a few days ago, and had no reason to like him at first.  Though the longer it went...he did not know what would happen then.  There were not lies of this sort between friends, but Sig and he truly would leave for Rivendell soon; and from there the road to the Shire did not come back through Khazad-dûm.

 

He said as much to Sig as they walked back down to Hollin, Bilbo’s rabbit butchered and wrapped in paper under his arm.

 

“I thank you for what you have done,” he said.  “You have been the best of friends, cousin; but I have learned what I came here to learn.  If it was painful, well:  I knew it could not be easy before we came.”

 

Sig bumped his shoulder.  “If you are sure you are ready to go,” he said.

 

“At the least, I am ready to not be here anymore,” Bilbo said.  “Those who have been kindest to us have been liars.”

 

“Uncle Isengrim has grown on me,” Sig said.

 

“Nevertheless,” Bilbo said.  “But I think I must say goodbye to Amy.  I shall try to do so this afternoon.”

 

“But can we have rabbit your da’s way for dinner?” Sig said.  “That really is far better than plain rabbit stew with carrots and peas.”

 

Bilbo laughed.  “I will put the beans to simmer before we go,” he said.  “I think we may trust Uncle Isengrim to keep them from burning.”

 

And so after luncheon they returned to Khazad-dûm.  Sig had kept the directions to Amy’s father’s rooms, and Bilbo thought they might not have found them without it.  But there was no answer to their knock.

 

“Perhaps she is with her tutor,” Sig suggested.

 

“Perhaps she is in Hollin,” Bilbo answered.  “Either way I suppose we must go.”

 

So they returned to the Hobbit town.

 

“It is a wonder that the Hobbits remain plump with all this walking,” Sig said.

 

Bilbo laughed.  “I think perhaps we have done more than the usual trekking back and forth.  Though perhaps not.  Amy seems to move back and forth quite a bit.”

 

And then they reached the turn for Belladonna’s smial, and took the way in silence.  In front of the smial, Bilbo took a deep breath.

 

“Ready?” Sig asked.

 

Bilbo glared, just a little.  “No,” he admitted, then went through the garden gate and knocked on the door, Sig following.

 

It was not Amy who answered, nor his—Belladonna, but Calin.

 

“Oh, hello again,” he said.

 

“Good afternoon,” Bilbo said.  Calin did not invite them in.  Bilbo thought the manners here horrible, truly.

 

“It’s not tea time, yet,” Calin said.  “You’re early.”

 

“We have not come for tea,” Bilbo replied.  “We have come to say goodbye.”

 

“Oh,” Calin said.  “I’ll get Mama,” and he closed the door, leaving them standing on the step.

 

“No,” Bilbo began, but it was too late.  He and Sig looked at each other.

 

“Their manners could do with some improvement on the mountain,” Sig said.

 

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Bilbo replied.

 

And then a pale Belladonna opened the door.  Bilbo could see Amy behind her, Esmie on her hip.

 

“I apologize for Calin’s manners,” she said.  “The Dwarves... but it does not matter now.  Please come in.”  There was nothing for it.  They stepped inside.

 

Belladonna took Esmie from Amy.  “Amy, if you would,” she said.  “Perhaps the butter biscuits, and the lemon curd, and blueberries if there are any left.”

 

“I’ll see,” Amy said, and left for the kitchen.

 

They sat in the parlour in uncomfortable silence, waiting for Amy to return.

 

“I hope you have found Isengrim a good host,” Belladonna tried once.

 

Sig replied, “He is all that is welcoming.”  But silence fell once more until Amy came.

 

After tea had been poured, Bilbo spoke.  “I have come to say goodbye.  We will leave on the morrow.”

 

Amy’s face showed her disappointment.  “So soon?” she asked.

 

“We aim yet for Rivendell,” Sig said, “and to be home to the Shire before it grows too cold.”

 

“But we have just met,” Amy said.  “And you are very welcome here.”

 

Bilbo breathed in slowly and then out again before he spoke.  The Baggins manners were the best in the Shire.

 

“I thank you,” he told her.  “You have been a gracious hostess, and have indeed made us feel welcome.”

 

“Might you not come back by way of Khazad-dûm?” she persisted.  “At the least, say that you will return in the spring.  The mountain is lovely then.”

 

“The East Road is more direct,” Bilbo said.  “And I cannot promise that I come back to the mountain at all.  My home is in the Shire.”

 

“But you have family here as well,” she said, and Bilbo began to see her temper again.  “And it seems very bad of you to never want to see us again.”

 

Bilbo looked down at his tea.  He heard Belladonna sob, just once.

 

“Excuse me,” she said.  “I must—excuse me,” and she left the room.

 

Amy looked at him accusingly.  “You have made her cry again.”

 

Bilbo nodded.  “I think we have all cried enough for a while,” he said.  “I think it better that I went.”  He put down his teacup, and tentatively reached for her hand.  “When you are older, if you like, and may travel, you will be very welcome at Bag End.”

 

She glared at him.  “I do not think I want to go.  It seems to be a very boring place.”

 

“You will be welcome nonetheless,” Bilbo said.  He stood.  “Will you give my goodbyes to Calin, and Esmie a kiss for me?”

 

She moved quickly then, and was holding him tight in her arms.  “I wish you would not go,” she told his shoulder.  “But I will tell them.”

 

Sig stood.  “And the princes as well,” he said.

 

Amy flushed.  “Are you very mad at us?”

 

Bilbo shook his head, and Sig laughed.

 

“I only want them to know they did not get away with it,” he said, and offered Amy a bow.

 

***

 

It was as they sat down to Da’s rabbit and beans and a salad from Isengrim’s garden that there was a knock on the door; and when Uncle Isengrim went to open it, Fili and Kili stood on the other side.

 

“Come in, come in,” Isengrim said.  “There’s lots for dinner, and it’s a secret Baggins recipe that is known and coveted throughout the Shire.”

 

“Rabbit?” asked Fili.  “I thank you; we will.”  Uncle Isengrim went to fetch two more plates, and Bilbo and Sig moved the chairs to make more room at the table.

 

Fili sat next to Bilbo, and Kili on his other side.

 

“I am sorry we deceived you,” Fili said.  “At first it was not intentional, of course; but we realised soon enough you could not know who we were.”

 

“And then it was rather fun,” Kili added, “to be with someone who didn’t know, and to have a secret to laugh about.  But lately we have felt bad, but didn’t know how to say it.”

 

Sig laughed.  “By the way,” he drawled, “we forgot to tell you something when we met.”

 

“There was certainly enough else going on,” Bilbo said.  “I should have been appalled at my manners.”

 

Sig shuddered.  “Baggins manners!” he added.

 

Fili and Kili looked askance.

 

“Bagginses are a bit more respectable than Tooks,” Sig said.  “You may have noticed there are none here in Hollin, nor I suspect, will there ever be.”

 

“I have not had very good manners these last days,” Bilbo said.

 

“It’s the Took coming out in you,” Sig told him.

 

It was a rather merry dinner, their last one in Hollin.  Uncle Isengrim pressed Fili and Kili to stay for afters, and they agreed.  Kili pestered Bilbo rather a lot for his da’s recipe, so Bilbo escaped to the garden for a pipe.  Fili followed him, though he did not smoke; and they sat together on a bench in Isengrim’s garden.

 

“It is a difficult thing, what you have learned here,” Fili said.  “I hope it has not put you off the mountain entirely.”

 

“It has not been easy for me, no,” Bilbo said, smiling sadly at Fili.  “But I am glad at least for new friends.”

 

“And we are friends, are we not?” Fili asked.  “I feel I know you as well as some I have known years.”

 

Bilbo nodded.  “It has been very intense, I think, and you have been witness to it.  I should not have been so open with you if I could have helped it; it is the Baggins in me.  But I cannot regret your friendship.”

 

They sat for a while yet in silence.  Clouds drifted across the face of the moon, and shadows shifted in the garden.  Bilbo felt at peace, smoking his pipe and sitting there with Fili.  It had been a rare feeling for him of late.

 

“It seems it is a constraint, being a Baggins,” Fili said after a while.

 

“I suppose it could be seen as such,” Bilbo said, sighing.  “But it is who I am, who I was brought up to be.  And a Baggins fits well into the life of the Shire.”  He paused.  “Perhaps it is why none of us have come to Hollin—excepting my Da.  And even he went back.  Bagginses belong in the Shire.”

 

“There is one Baggins, at least,” Fili said, “that I should be glad to see under the mountain again, that I should be glad to see settled at the mountain.”

 

Bilbo blew a smoke ring.  “You want my recipe for rabbit as well, but are subtler than Kili.”

 

“Perhaps I am too subtle,” Fili said, and then there was a hand turning Bilbo’s chin to face him.  Fili’s hand stroked through Bilbo’s hair, and he slowly leaned in to Bilbo.

 

Bilbo exhaled, and leaned forward himself, until their lips were only a breath apart.

 

“Are such things truly accepted here?” he asked softly.

 

“They are,” Fili said.  “It is thought no different than any other love.”  He tilted his head, so that his nose moved along Bilbo’s, and along his cheekbone.

 

“You are a prince, though,” Bilbo argued, “and the King’s heir.”  He turned his head, and his words feathered the braids at Fili’s ear, and Fili shuddered.

 

“Kili will marry soon enough, and I half think it could be Amy,” Fili replied.  “It will not matter.”  His head went back, and Bilbo felt his beard scratch softly along his brow.  “Have you more arguments?” he asked.  “I grow eager to be done with them.”

 

“You are not yet grown,” Bilbo answered, but his mouth brushed the skin of Fili’s neck as he did; and then he must taste, just a little; and Fili gasped, and Bilbo was done arguing.  He pushed Fili back so that he lay beneath Bilbo on the bench, and did what he could to draw more of those sweet gasps from him.

 

Later, as they sat under the moon with Bilbo’s arms around Fili, Fili spoke.

 

“Will you not return?” he asked.  “I know you must go, but... already I do not know what I will do without you.”

 

Bilbo kissed his hair.  “You will fall in love with another,” he said.

 

“I do not think I will,” Fili replied.

 

“You will,” Bilbo told him.  “This has been too fast, and we have known each other too little, and you are very young.”

 

Fili twisted in Bilbo’s arms, that he might face him.  “You do not know Dwarves,” he replied.  “I do not think I will.”  And he lifted his face for Bilbo’s kiss again, and Bilbo could not refuse him.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Sig begin the trek to Rivendell.

 

 

When he came to bed, Sig slept already; and Bilbo was groggy in the morning when they awoke, and as they made their goodbyes to Uncle Isengrim.  So they did not speak until they had been on the road a while, but eventually Sig could be quiet no longer.

 

“It seems Fili is not the type to want a mother for his children after all,” he said.  “You are moving in high circles.”

 

Bilbo sighed.  “He is very beautiful,” he admitted.  “But he is also too young.  I should feel ashamed.”

 

“But you don’t?” Sig asked.

 

“No,” Bilbo replied.  “I should regret it, but I cannot.  I don’t know where it comes from in me.”

 

Sig clasped his shoulder.  “You are half Took,” he said, “and Tooks are often wild.”

 

“Don’t remind me,” Bilbo said.  “I do not have a good example.”

 

Sig squeezed his shoulder, and let his hand drop.  “Neither have you already made vows, or even a promise.  I do not think you have what she did in you.”

 

“I do not like to think it,” Bilbo said.  “But if anything makes me want to feel remorse, it is her lack of it.

 

“I think she feels remorse now,” Sig told him.

 

“But in the moment?” Bilbo asked him.  “These past twenty-eight years?”

 

“I don’t know,” Sig said.

 

They made good time, and as they left the river valley the road past the farms became a track, with the foothills of the mountains on their right and open grassland to their left.

 

“I don’t think the Dwarves often go to Rivendell, or the Elves to Khazad-dûm,” Sig said, as the grass began to push upon the track on the third day.

 

Bilbo laughed.  “No, it seems not,” he said.  “Only curious Hobbits!”

 

“Hobbits, the explorers of Middle-Earth!” Sig returned, and they continued in this way for a while.

 

As they settled down for luncheon, Bilbo and Sig observed a figure riding a horse come from the Rivendell way.  They could watch him for a while over the rolling land, and they sat at the top of a hill.  He was dressed in grey, and his horse was white; and somehow as he came closer, Bilbo began to think he looked familiar, though he could not think why.  He told Sig as they packed up their luncheon and began to walk again.

 

“I cannot place him,” Bilbo said.  “And I have not been to Bree so often as that; I don’t know many Men.  And he is yet some distance away!  But I cannot shake the feeling.”

 

Sig looked ahead as the grey figure came into view.  “I couldn’t say,” he said.  “Only for some reason he makes me think of the Party Tree.  So I suppose I feel the same.”

 

“How very odd,” Bilbo said.  “I wonder when we shall meet.  By teatime, do you think?”

 

Sig shook his head.  “Sooner, I think,” and indeed, it was less than an hour before they closed the distance between them.

 

“Hobbits!” said the figure in grey.  His robes seemed to be layered in all different shades of the colour.  “You come a dangerous way, my friends.”

 

“You have just been through it,” Bilbo said.  “What do we have to fear?”

 

“Wolves, mainly,” he said.  “Though on occasion, Orcs as well.”

 

“Orcs!” Sig cried.  “Why would they not say anything in Khazad-dûm?  They knew we came this way.”

 

“The Dwarves do not often visit the Elves,” said the man.  “I do not know if they know it.”

 

“That’s true,” Bilbo reminded Sig.  “We marked how little the track was used.”  They looked at each other.

 

“What shall we do?” Sig asked him.

 

Bilbo turned to the man in grey.  “How long do you think it, by foot?” he asked.  “And did you see signs of Orcs?”

 

“Eight more days,” he said.  “Seven if you hurry, and don’t stop for all your meals.”  He paused.  “I saw no Orcs,” he said.  “But that doesn’t mean they may not come down out of the mountains.”

 

Bilbo looked to Sig.  “You didn’t volunteer for Orcs,” he said.

 

“No,” Sig said.  “But I hate for you not to go after all.”

 

The man in grey sighed.  “I see my business in Khazad-dûm will have to wait,” he said.  “I will return with you to Rivendell.”  He bowed. “Gandalf the Grey,” he said.  “With whom do I travel?”

 

Bilbo looked at him.  “Perhaps you should go on to Khazad-dûm after all,” he said.  Gandalf looked affronted.

 

“He’s had a bad week,” Sig said.  “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

 

“I am, actually,” Gandalf said, “known to many Hobbits.  I have not found such a greeting usual.”

 

“Like I said,” Sig said.  “Bad week.”  He bowed.  “Sigismond Took, at your service.”

 

“Ah,” said Gandalf.  “Perhaps you saw my fireworks? At the Old Took’s eleventy-eleventh birthday?”

 

“We thought you looked familiar!” Sig exclaimed.

 

Gandalf turned expectantly to Bilbo.

 

“Bilbo Baggins,” he said.

 

“Ah,” said Gandalf.  “I know your mother, I believe—“

 

Sig interrupted him.  “I really wouldn’t.  Bit of a touchy subject.”

 

“But Bella Took is your mother, is she not?” Gandalf persisted.

 

Sig winced.

 

“Belladonna Took gave birth to me,” Bilbo said, Baggins polite, as if he complimented Gandalf on his fine whizpoppers.  “I have no mother; I thank you for asking.”

 

“Oh dear,” Gandalf said.  “Still, I do not think I would be welcome in Hollin should harm come to you.  I will accompany you to Rivendell.”

 

“Thanks a lot,” said Sig.  “He’s going to Baggins us to death now.”

 

***

 

Aside from his unfortunate connection to Bilbo’s—to Belladonna, Gandalf proved an amiable travel companion.  He rode beside them, his lovely horse (whose name, he said, was Shadowfax) at a gentle walk, and told them of the beauties of Rivendell before them, and of many other places where he had travelled.  Sig asked some questions, and Gandalf answered; and sometimes the other way around, but Bilbo kept his eyes on the forest beginning to rise in the distance and did not speak unless Sig asked him a direct question.  Gandalf was charming, and spoke to Bilbo early on; but soon enough he learned better, and directed his conversation to Sig.

 

Bilbo found it hard not to like him, but he persevered.  Gandalf had introduced Belladonna to Dwalin, she had said; and it seemed, had fully encouraged her immersion in Dwarven society to such a degree that she—well.  That she did what she had done.  Though Bilbo supposed it was unfair to blame the Dwarves entirely.  It seemed the Hobbits of Hollin were equally to blame.  And Gandalf.  He felt entirely free to blame Gandalf the Grey.  He supposed his parents’ marriage should have been happy if they had remained in the Shire, away from such influences.           

 

As they settled in to their evening camp and waited for their stew to heat, Gandalf tried again to speak to Bilbo.

 

“I am astonished to see you so grown,” he said.  “I believe when I last saw you, you were only a fauntling.”

 

“I am sure it is so,” Bilbo replied.

 

“And you have come now, to live in Hollin?” Gandalf asked.  “From the Shire, I should think you would take the East Road to Rivendell.”

 

“We shall take the East Road home,” said Bilbo.  “We live in the Shire.”

 

“So you came to the mountain to visit,” Gandalf said.  “I imagine your mother was happy to see you.”

 

Sig groaned.  “Please, Bilbo,” he said.

 

“I have no mother,” Bilbo said.  “When I last saw her, I do not think Belladonna Took was happy, no.”

 

Sig groaned again, and this time appealed to Gandalf.

 

“Please, Mister Gandalf,” he said, “Please let it be, else it will be a very long trip to Rivendell; and we shall all be sorry you decided to join us.”

 

Thankfully Gandalf took Sig’s advice, and said nothing else the rest of the evening.

 

The next day, Gandalf and Sig conversed as Bilbo walked in silence, and again the day after that.  They saw neither wolf nor Orc, but Bilbo knew that did not mean they were not close.  He was secretly glad for Gandalf’s protective presence.  But on their fourth day of travel together, Gandalf spoke to Bilbo again as Sig walked quietly ahead.

 

“You are the most cantankerous Hobbit under one hundred I have ever known, Bilbo Baggins,” he said.

 

“You have been blessed with many Hobbit friends,” Bilbo said.

 

“Indeed,” Gandalf said.  “I have never before had a Hobbit enemy, yet it seems that is what I have in you.”  Bilbo thought about that, as they walked through the green dapple.

 

“I don’t think of you as an enemy, but I can’t think of you as a friend either,” he admitted.  “I am sure you are very charming.”

 

“You condemn me with your praise,” Gandalf responded.  “What can I have done that you hate me so?  I have not seen you in almost thirty years.”

 

“No,” Bilbo said.

 

“Then?” Gandalf asked.  “It is a very sad thing to me to see a hobbit so embittered.  You are such a happy people.”

 

“Perhaps it is best if you left it,” Bilbo replied.

 

“I cannot,” said Gandalf.  “You see how it is; it worries at me, and it only grows.  I shall soon be able to do nothing but follow behind you fretfully asking ‘why?’”

 

Bilbo laughed against his will.  Gandalf smiled a bit to hear it. 

 

“Very well,” Bilbo said.  “I will begin by asking you a question, Master Gandalf; and we will see if you can come to an answer on your own.”  Gandalf nodded.  “Why have you not seen me for almost thirty years, do you think, sir?”

 

“You went to the Shire,” Gandalf replied.  “It is true I am more often at the mountain, though I do come through the Shire for a birthday party now and again.”

 

“Yes,” said Bilbo.  “I went to the Shire with my father, and my mother—Belladonna—stayed behind in Hollin.  Do you begin to see it?  I am told that it was her great good friend Gandalf who introduced her to the Dwarf whose child ripening in her belly ended my parents’ marriage.  I am told that they had many adventures together that took her away from my father and me.”

 

Gandalf stilled.  “You cannot know the importance of what your mother did,” he said.

 

“How can I care?” Bilbo asked.  “Somewhere in there, she chose these adventures over her family, and then built a new family in the ruins of the old.  I hate only her from it; but I can’t like either Dwalin or you, and I don’t think anything could change that.”

 

Gandalf rode in silence for a moment.  “I did not know what we did to you,” he finally said.  “And yet I would not change it.  I am sorry for it, but even so—your mother’s task—“

 

“Stop,” said Bilbo.  “Soon I shall hate you too.  Three is too many for any Hobbit to bear.”

 

“Three?” Gandalf asked, but Bilbo would not confide in him.  After a while, Gandalf said, “Hatred is not meant to grow in a Hobbit’s heart.”

 

“No,” Bilbo agreed.  “It is not.”  Sig dropped back to walk next to Bilbo, and Bilbo leaned into him.

 

“Maybe now you could leave it, Mister Gandalf?” Sig suggested.  “It’s only now that Bilbo has learned of it, and the wound is still so fresh.”

 

“It was a great good she did,” Gandalf said.

 

“Mayhap,” Sig said.  “It was a great evil too.”

 

***

 

Bilbo was glad to find that now that Gandalf knew the source of Bilbo’s resentment, he no longer pestered him.  It was their last day of travel, Gandalf said in the morning; and then he said nothing else.  At last, as the day turned to afternoon, they rounded a bend in the path, and the valley of Rivendell lay before them.  Bilbo had never seen such beauty—not the green Shire, not opulent Khazad-dûm.  The Elven dwelling was built so that the water ran through and around it, as if it grew out of both the forest floor and the riverbed.

 

“I shall leave you now,” Gandalf said.  “You will be safe the rest of the way.”

 

“Thank you,” Sig said.  “Will you be, Mister Gandalf?  Safe, I mean?”

 

“I shall,” he said.  “Shadowfax and I can move swiftly, and I am not helpless against orcs.”  He moved his arm to show them he wore a sword.  Bilbo had not noted it before; nor had he seen Gandalf’s robes seem to shine through white from below, yet for a moment, they did. 

 

Gandalf turned to Bilbo.  “Bilbo Baggins,” he said.  “I wish for you that Rivendell may heal you.  Please consider staying long enough that it may.  I know it is not a recommendation to you, but either your—Belladonna’s name, or my own, shall be recommendation enough for Lord Elrond.”  He stopped, and for a moment, Bilbo thought he saw the glint of a tear on his cheek; but then it was gone.  “You break my heart,” he said, and then he was riding away.  Bilbo and Sig watched him until they could not see him anymore, and then turned to follow the path into Rivendell.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mystery is explained.

 

 

Besides its beauty, what Bilbo noticed next about Rivendell was how tall everything was.  Statues began to line the path, and they stretched to the topmost branches of the trees that grew from the valley floor.  Arches, as they came to them, seemed to float in the sky; and up close it all seemed to touch the ground not out of gravity, but as a step in a dance; soon it would sway into the air again.  Bilbo felt very small.  As they reached the open gates of the Last Homely House, they were greeted by a tall elf with shining hair.

 

“Welcome to the Last Homely House,” he said, but Bilbo thought his demeanour made the words aloof rather than friendly.

 

“Thank you,” he said; but as he moved around the Elf, the Elf smoothly moved to block his way again.

 

“Guest quarters are below,” he said.  “If you will follow this path down the stairs and to the right.”  He cleared his throat.  “Most stay a day.”

 

Bilbo turned to Sig.  “The hospitality of the Elves is legend,” he said.

 

Sig shook his head.  “Thank you,” he told the Elf.  “We’ll go there now.”  And he dragged Bilbo with him.  They found an empty room, and deposited their packs, and lay back on the beds.

 

“I don’t care how long most guests stay,” Sig said.  “We’re staying ‘till you’re better.  It’s breaking you, and I don’t like it.”

 

“Do you think this place can truly help?” Bilbo asked.

 

“I hope so,” Sig replied.  “It does seem...”

 

“I know,” Bilbo said.  “I feel it too, but I do not like to ask it.”

 

“Maybe we can just never leave,” Sig suggested.  “Do you think they will come to kick us out?  That Elf seemed like he could out-Baggins a Baggins.”

 

“I am afraid you will find the guest quarters are not to your liking soon.  Sadly we must begin to paint.  And fumigate, though there were no pests when you arrived; I cannot think where they came from.  And refurbish everything, for somehow it has become so very soiled,” Bilbo mimicked.  “And after all, I am sure your home is calling you.  Good day.”

 

Sig sat up.  “Shall we see if they serve tea?” he asked.  Bilbo laughed and agreed.

 

As the days passed, they explored the quiet ways and beautiful spaces that were Rivendell, and found that they were not ushered away.  Most Elves were polite, and seemed kind; but Bilbo and Sig did not seek them out.  They sought instead to find some new splendour each day and to enjoy each other’s company.  They did not speak of the world outside or when it would be time to go.  But one evening, a handsome, ageless Elf joined them as they watched the gloaming come over the valley.

 

“Those who stay so long are often heart sore,” he said without preliminaries.  Bilbo and Sig turned to see him, and he looked long into each of their faces.  Bilbo did not know what he saw, but he added, “I am Elrond.  You are welcome in Rivendell as long as you wish.”

 

Bilbo nodded, but could not speak.  He felt stripped bare before this Elf.

 

“You are very kind,” Sig said.

 

“Your friend has need,” Lord Elrond replied.  He turned to Bilbo.  “I hope we may speak more soon,” he said, and then he left.

 

“I see now,” Sig said, “what they mean when they speak of the hospitality of the Elves.”  Still, Bilbo could only nod.  He looked out into the valley.  Twilight was gone and night had fallen, but he thought for the first time since leaving the mountain that perhaps he truly might heal.

 

Two days passed before Bilbo left Sig sleeping and asked a passing Elf where he might find Lord Elrond.  Though she looked at him strangely, she showed him the way.  Lord Elrond sat in council with several other Elves, warriors from their look.  Bilbo found a close nook in which to wait.  The air was warm, and his eyes closed.  He had awoke early.  And he must have slept, because he woke again to Lord Elrond’s voice.

 

“It is the Hobbit,” he said.  “Will you come?”  He gestured to the open space where he had been meeting.  Bilbo stood and went into the room.  There were no walls, only arches open to the air, and water fell past to the pools below.

 

“It is very beautiful here,” Bilbo said.  Lord Elrond said nothing, only walked to a table where a pitcher stood, and poured a glass for Bilbo and then one for himself.  He motioned Bilbo to a seat.

 

“Would you speak of it?” he asked.  “What has brought you such pain?”

 

“I don’t know that speaking will help,” Bilbo said.  “So far it only seems to make it worse.”  He took a sip from his glass; and discovered that it was not water, nor any other drink he had had, but tasted instead of friends’ laughter and moss on rocks and birds on the wing.  It clearly made him fanciful; and he must have said so aloud, for Elrond laughed.

 

“It is only water,” he said, “though it is the water of Rivendell.  Perhaps there is some special magic to the valley.”

 

They sat together in silence.

 

“You must lance the boil,” Elrond said after a time.  “I believe it festers still, though perhaps our air has helped you, and our water may help you more.”

 

“At any rate, I don’t know what to say,” Bilbo said, “and I was brought up that you don’t criticize someone’s friends to their face.  Especially not your host.”

 

Elrond stirred.  “I am unaccustomed to thinking ill of my friends, it is true; but if it is my friends who have done this, then I must.  A good person may all unwitting cause harm; and you have been harmed, Hobbit.”

 

Bilbo did not answer.

 

“I do not know many of your people,” Elrond said slowly.  “In truth, I know only one well enough to call friend.”

 

Bilbo watched the water streaming by.

 

“How has Belladonna Took harmed you, Hobbit?” Elrond asked.

 

Bilbo hid his face in his hands.  “She was my mother,” he said, his voice muffled.

 

“ _Was_ your mother?” Elrond asked.

 

“I will not claim her,” Bilbo replied, his face still covered.

 

“When I knew her, I thought she had neither husband nor child,” Elrond said.  “How old are you?”

 

“Thirty-three,” said Bilbo.

 

“Ah,” exhaled Lord Elrond.  “Ah.”

 

Bilbo peeked through his hands.  Elrond’s face, which had only been serene, seemed troubled now; and Bilbo let his hands fall to his lap.

 

“Tell me your name,” Elrond said.

 

“Bilbo Baggins,” Bilbo replied.

 

“Bilbo Baggins, thirty-three years old,” he said.  “It must have been a great trial to be apart from your mother for a year when you were very young; but do you not think it worth the cost?  Did she not tell you what she did?”

 

“She did not tell me,” Bilbo said.  “She could not.  When she came back, she bore a Dwarf’s child; and my father took me and went to the Shire.  I have not seen her these twenty-eight years, until only a month ago, when I went to Hollin to learn why she would not come with us.”

 

Elrond shook his head.  “Even the most pure among us, tempted,” he said.  “I apologise.  Yours is a deeper wound than I had thought.”

 

Bilbo hid his face again.  “I hate them both,” he said.  “And almost, Gandalf too.”

 

“You must know, I think, what was done,” Elrond said, “that you may weigh our mistakes.”  When Bilbo looked at him, he added, “Yes, I count myself in that number.  I will claim my part in what was done.  But as long as it is a mystery, you cannot begin to measure your mother’s actions, or Gandalf’s.  But I think it is your mother who has hurt you most, as it was only she you must have loved, not any of the rest of us.”

 

Bilbo thought, and dropped his hands, and looked out upon the water again.  “I will listen,” he said.

 

Elrond nodded.  “When the Dwarves exiled from Erebor moved to Moria, a great Balrog lived in the depths:  Durin’s Bane, disturbed in their first deep delving of that mountain ages ago.  Before a century passed, the Dwarves had disturbed it again.  Gandalf went to fight it, and your mother was his friend, I believe.”

 

“They fought a Balrog?” Bilbo asked incredulously.

 

Elrond smiled at him.  “Gandalf did, and it was indeed a battle; but Gandalf prevailed.  In the course of their explorations of the mountain, however, it was your mother who discovered a greater evil; and it was she who conquered it, in the year that you were four years old.”

 

“A greater evil than a Balrog,” Bilbo said.  “Were you not the lord of the Elves of Rivendell, I would say you told me fairytales.”

 

“It was the One Ring of Sauron,” Elrond said, “and your mother bore it, with its evil pressing down on her, to the gates of Mordor, to the pit of Mount Doom, that it might be destroyed.”

 

Bilbo shook his head.  “I cannot believe it,” he said.  “Oh, I don’t say you lie, only that it’s...”

 

“I understand,” Elrond replied.  “It is a tale from legends.”

 

Sig spoke from the door.  “It’s not the sort of thing one asks a mother with a young child to do,” he said.  Bilbo smiled to see him, and he came to put his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders.  “I think someone else might have done it.”

 

“None of us could,” Elrond said.  “The evil of the ring...I do not know if I can describe it in a way to make you understand.  None of us were pure enough; none of us valued the simple things enough.  It took a Hobbit.”

 

Sig set his shoulders, and Bilbo was reminded of how stubborn he could be when he wanted.  “Simple things like love for your child?” he asked.  “Maybe she was pure when she left; but she wasn’t when she came back, and I don’t just mean from the Dwarven business.  She let him go, and a proper mother never could.”

 

“She must have been more wounded than any of us knew,” Elrond said.  “I do not think it is an answer to your pain, Bilbo.  But she did save all Middle-Earth from the return of great evil.”

 

Bilbo nodded.

 

“It is not enough for you,” Elrond said.

 

He shook his head, and his tears fell again.  Elrond stood, and Bilbo felt his hand in his hair.  “We will speak again soon,” he said, and he left Bilbo there with Sig’s arm around his shoulders, and the unbroken water pouring past.

 

***

 

 

They did speak again, Bilbo and Elrond, many times over the coming days, for Bilbo and Sig’s visit to Rivendell grew to be months, and then it was winter, and still they stayed.

 

Bilbo did not find Elrond’s answers easy, or his questions; but he felt a peace in his presence that was a balm to his wounded soul.  He confided all to Elrond:  his blaming Gandalf, his hatred of his father as well as his mother, his shame that upon learning the great deed his mother had performed he still had no forgiveness for her.  He even spoke to him of Amy and his other siblings.

 

“It seems she wants an older brother,” Bilbo told him, “and I do not hate her, or blame her any more; but I can’t look at her without thinking of what my mother did.  It makes it hard to learn to love her.”

 

Elrond nodded.  “You may give yourself a great gift if you can.”  He paused.  “And you would give her a great gift as well, but it seems she knows that.”

 

Spring approached, and Bilbo saw Sig looking longingly to the west, though he didn’t say anything; and finally Bilbo knew he must leave Rivendell, so he sought out Elrond one last time.  They sat in the room that Bilbo had begun to think of as theirs as the water flowed by.

 

“I must have done something,” Bilbo said.  He hung his head.  “There must have been something wrong with me, that she could not love me.”

 

“Oh, Bilbo,” Elrond said.  For the first time, he sank down next to Bilbo and pulled him close.  “She was wounded to her core, as you were when you came to us; none could but love you.”

 

“But she let me leave,” Bilbo told him.

 

“None could but love you,” Elrond repeated, and held him close.  Bilbo closed his eyes and let him.

 

On the morrow they went.  Elrond came down to the gates to see them off, and embraced Bilbo once more.

 

“I am glad to call you Elf-friend,” he told him, “and more to have had you with us this winter.  May your heart continue to heal.”

 

“Thank you,” Bilbo said.  “You were right after all; I am better for having spoken about it, though it helped to have a good listener.”

 

Sig bumped his shoulder.  “What am I, then?” he asked. 

 

Bilbo bumped him right back.  “My best friend,” he said.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Return to the Shire.

 

 

The way back to the Shire was a bit longer than the way from Khazad-dûm to Rivendell; but the road was smooth and made travel faster, and Sig and Bilbo felt themselves seasoned travellers now.  Certainly, their camps went up and came down more efficiently than when they had first begun their journey in the previous fall, and they were able to make better use of their daylight as a result.  Bilbo found he was glad to be travelling again, but began to dread the day they would reach the Shire.  He and Sig had been cheery as they began, but Bilbo’s spirits grew more sombre as they approached Bree.

 

“At least now you know the worst,” Sig said, as they sat with their mugs in The Prancing Pony.

 

“I hope I do,” Bilbo said.  “I don’t know how it could be worse than it is, but I could never have imagined what we found in Hollin.”

 

“Yes, but you’ve been with your da all this time,” Sig argued.  “If he has secrets, they’re not new.  I think it must only be that he would not stay to be one of her two families.”

 

Bilbo nodded.  “Can you see it of my da?  I can’t.”

 

“No,” Sig shook his head.  “Not your da, nor any other in the Shire.  Well...”

 

Bilbo laughed.  “I was just thinking the same thing, I bet.”

 

“Flambard,” they said together.

 

“Though mostly, he’s in love with his own self,” said Sig, “and hasn’t much room for others in his heart, rather than loving too many others.”

 

“That’s a bit hard on poor Flambard,” Bilbo argued.

 

“Says the cousin who grew up at Bag End instead of Tuckborough,” Sig replied.  “If Flambard set up multiple households, it would be to hold his multiple mirrors, so he could see his lovely self wherever he went.”

 

“Well,” Bilbo said after a moment.  “Those Tooks are good-looking sods.”

 

“It’s true,” Sig agreed, laughing.

 

“In all the Shire, I think only the Bagginses handsomer,” Bilbo continued.

 

Sig punched his arm, and his beer splashed on the table.

 

***

 

In the morning, they slept later than they had on the road; the curtains blocked the first light of dawn, and their beds were comfortable down rather than the hard ground on which they had been sleeping.  It was hunger that finally drove them for their beds, and they found they had slept so late as to miss not only first breakfast, but second breakfast as well.  They sighed, but decided they would spend the rest of the morning in Bree.  They would buy a few more provisions for the last leg of their journey, and a _mathom_ for Flambard who had truly wanted to come but could not leave his family, and have a good elevenses before they went back on the road.  They did find something in the Bree market for Flambard, a hand mirror with a carved and brightly painted handle, but Bilbo also found a creamy yellow shawl embroidered with a border of green vines and blue flowers, and a set of braid clasps, enamelled in dark green.  Sig found him pondering the clasps.

 

“Don’t say it,” Bilbo said.

 

“Say what?” Sig asked.  “That they would look handsome in blond hair?  Or set off green eyes?”

 

“Any of that,” Bilbo replied.  He grimaced, but he bought the clasps, and went back for the shawl for Amy as well.  He thought for a moment, then found a favourite bookseller of his to search out something for Calin—maybe a book of adventure stories—and lastly went to one of the many excellent knitters to find a soft lamb stuffed with wool for Esmie.  Sig looked at the pile.

 

“Kili will feel left out,” he said.  So they went back to the leather workers, and bought an arm guard for Kili, which they had stamped with the Durin hammer and anvil as well as Kili’s name.

 

“I’m sure they can find nicer in Khazad-dûm,” Bilbo said as they went back to the inn for their elevenses.  “The Hollin market was rather amazing.”

 

“You know that is not the point of gifts,” Sig said.  “Think of them as late birthday presents; after all, it was just after your thirty-third when we met them.”

 

Bilbo chewed his lip.  “The hair clasps are not too forward?” he asked.

 

“Considering how late you came to bed that night?” Sig snorted.  “No, not too forward, I think.”

 

Bilbo looked seriously at Sig.  “Don’t speak of him that way,” he said. 

 

Sig looked back.  “No,” he replied.  “No, I won’t.”  He clasped Bilbo’s shoulder.  “He is lucky,” Sig said, “and they are just forward enough.  It is only the Baggins in you that worries.”

 

“Nothing can come of it,” Bilbo said.

 

“Let the future take care of itself,” Sig told him.  “All you do is send him some clasps that remind you of his eyes.  It is not a marriage.”

 

Bilbo slowly nodded.

 

“Not yet,” Sig added.  Bilbo punched his arm.

 

After their elevenses—wonderfully hot, the first so since they had left Rivendell—they asked the innkeeper whom they might see about sending a package to the mountain, had their gifts wrapped in brown paper, paid for their delivery, and saw them on their way. 

 

Bilbo sighed as they stepped onto the road to the Shire, the final steps to home.  The hills began to roll in the familiar way, and more and more Hobbits were on the road and in forest and field as they passed.  Their goal was four days to the Brandywine Bridge (it was perhaps ambitious, given their late start on the first day). From there it was a bit past Frogmorton the next day; and the day after that, home to Bag End for Bilbo; but Sig would turn off the Great East Road just past the Brandywine and continue to Tuckborough that way.  So their time together was coming to its end, and Bilbo’s confrontation with his da would be on his own.  In a way he was glad of it.  His Baggins da would be mortified to have an audience to their conflict, though Bilbo would have been glad of Sig’s quiet support.

 

Indeed he found it very hard to say goodbye to Sig when the time came.

 

“We have lived in each other’s pockets all these months,” Bilbo said.  “You go to busy Tuckborough, but I to quiet Bag End.  I am not sure what I shall do without you.”

 

“You speak as if I live at the mountain,” Sig told him.  “I will see you next week.”

 

“Yes, I know,” Bilbo said.  “But who will tease me in the meanwhile?”  He paused.  “And who will comfort me after I speak to my da?”

 

“If you have need, come to Tuckborough,” Sig said.  “I will keep all the hordes away from you, and I will gladly listen.”  And thus they embraced each other and parted ways.

 

Now that he was alone, Bilbo’s steps dragged.  He lingered so long over luncheon in Whitfurrows that he took dinner in Frogmorton and stayed the night; and then lingered in the morning for second breakfast so that he left Frogmorton late, and must stop in Bywater for the night rather than go home.  No, he would not deceive himself; he would be late, but he could yet be in Bag End that day; it was that he chose not to be.  His da had been all he had through all his childhood, and though he was angry still, he feared to lose him.

 

Yet the next morning would come.  Bilbo shouldered his pack and began the short walk to Hobbiton and past that, to the Hill and Bag End.  He would be home in time for elevenses.  Now the Hobbits he passed on the road and in the fields knew him, and he had to stop many times for greetings; but each time he said, “I must home to da, you know; for it’s been long since I’ve seen him too!  But come for tea tomorrow!”  Should all these Hobbits take him up on the invitation, they would have an enormous group for tea.  He hoped he and da would be ready for it.

 

And finally he stood in front of Bag End, and was walking in the door, and then his da was exclaiming, “Bilbo!” and holding him tight.

 

“Look at you!” Da said.  “You are brown as anything, and so thin!”

 

“We often missed second breakfast on the road, or tea,” Bilbo said.  “And it was more travel bread than fairy cakes.”

 

“We shall fatten you up soon,” Da told him, and smiled, and hugged him again.  “Bilbo!  I am so glad to see you!”

 

“And I am glad to see you, and to be home,” Bilbo said, and he found it was the truth.

 

Da would not let him help with elevenses, but sent him to unpack his bag while Da readied everything.  As they sat down to the table, Bilbo finally spoke of what had been in his mind these many months.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Da?” he asked gently.

 

Da looked at his teacup.  “I didn’t know how,” he said.  “At first, you were too young; and then, well—the Shire sees these things the way I do.  I didn’t raise you to think it nice, and I didn’t want you thinking ill of your mother.”

 

“But you knew what I would find when I went to the mountain,” Bilbo persisted.

 

“I knew what I left, but I didn’t know what you’d find,” Da said.  “And even now I find I don’t have the words for it.  I just don’t understand.”  Da sighed.  “She was a good mother to you,” he said.  “I don’t know how she could do it; I never understood the families that did.  And I just couldn’t stay to become one of them.”  His da, his pleasant and cheery da, began to cry.  “I felt I wasn’t enough for her, that she must always be going off, and that she must look elsewhere the way she did.”

 

Bilbo felt his anger and hatred begin to drain away, and moved to hug Da.  “I know,” he said.  “I feel it too; but I have been assured the fault is not in me, and I try every day to believe it.  You must as well.”

 

Da shook his head, and wiped at his tears.  “Maybe Took and Baggins weren’t meant to mix,” he said.  “But you are the best of both, and I could never regret you.”

 

They sat in silence for a while.  Bilbo did not know how to say it, but Da said it for him.

 

“It is my fault that you didn’t have her, growing up, not hers, for she didn’t want us to go; and she loved you very much.  It was enough to break your heart to see her when we left,” Da said.

 

“But you went anyway,” Bilbo accused softly.

 

“I did,” Da said.  “My heart was broken too, and it broke again every day, and—well, I knew then that you would only be able to have one of us growing up, and I was selfish enough that I wanted it to be me.”  He leaned into Bilbo.  “I did not tell her that she could not visit or write, though I suppose I never told her that she could, either.  I just—well.  We have made a good home here, I hope, though it has not been perfect.”

 

“It has been,” Bilbo said.  “The Shire was a good place to grow up, and you have always been the best of fathers.  But I can’t help but wish that I had had a mother, too.”

 

“I am sorry,” Da told him.  “I never wanted to hurt you.  I would keep you from all hurt if I could.”

 

“I know,” Bilbo replied.  “I know.”


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer in the Shire.

 

 

Life in the Shire was unchanged; and Bilbo soon found he fell into his old ways.  In the quiet of the evenings, however, as he and Da sat with their pipes, his thoughts turned to the mountain.  He shied away from thoughts of Belladonna; that pain was still healing; but he did think on green eyes and a handsome smile.  He wondered if Fili wore green clasps on his braids. 

 

It was hard for him to think of travelling to Khazad-dûm again, though.  As Bilbo had told him before he left, Fili was full young to fall in love, and they had known each other a few days only.  Bilbo knew he was lost, but he thought that Fili might have found someone new to smile on.  He might have forgotten Bilbo, or thought only fondly of him; and Bilbo could not stand that.  He would rather wonder.

 

He did wish those who lived at the mountain would write letters; Shire folk wrote each other all the time, even to someone who lived just down the road.  A letter might give him hope.  He started many a letter himself in those days, but he never could post one.  He had sent clasps for Fili’s braids, and Fili had sent him not even an acknowledgement.  Fili must know how he felt, but could not encourage him.  Bilbo would not go back to the mountain to have his heart broken in person; he was too much of a Baggins for that.

 

Sig was a comfort to him, though they saw each other less often.  Sig knew how to write letters, at least; and he only pestered Bilbo a little about Fili.

 

But, “You’ll never know unless you go,” Sig persisted at little Adelard’s fourth birthday party.  Bilbo still found it hard to believe that narcissistic Flambard was a father.  “And I,” he added, “would be happy to accompany you.  Flambard’s domestic bliss gives me headaches.”

 

“You mean to find a Dwarf of your own and raise Dwobbits, you mean,” Bilbo countered.

 

Sig laughed.  “Anything to get away from Flambard,” he said.

 

Sig was their guest at Bag End that night, and he cornered Bilbo again after Da had retired for the evening.

 

“You mope, Bilbo,” he said.  “No one else may see it, but I do; and you will turn into a perennial bachelor, which is not so bad if that’s what’s meant to be; but you love him.”

 

“I knew him three days,” Bilbo protested.

 

“Four,” Sig said.  “And yet, you love him.”  Sig stretched back and put his feet up on the coffee table.  “Give up.  You never win arguments with me unless we both know you’re right, and this time we both know you’re wrong.”

 

“He’s too young; it was only four days; he will be the next king under the mountain in Khazad-dûm, and I am a simple hobbit from the Shire,” Bilbo said.  “I think I might win this one.”

 

Sig shook his head.  “You love him,” he repeated.  Bilbo couldn’t answer that.  He did love Fili—kind, thoughtful, handsome Fili.

 

“He has never written me, and I think I made my feelings clear when I sent him those clasps,” Bilbo said.  “And the mountain is painful enough for me; I do not wish to go back only to have my heart broken again.  It has only just begun to heal from the first time.”

 

Sig was silent for a while before he spoke again.

 

“That’s a harder argument,” he said.  “I’ll think about that one.”

 

***

 

The next day when Sig left, Bilbo walked him into Hobbiton.

 

“You might write him, you know,” Sig said.  “Dip your toe in, so to speak.”

 

“I might,” Bilbo replied.  “I try, only each letter ends in the wastebasket.  But one of these days I might find the courage.”  He smiled at Sig, and bumped his shoulder.  “Half-Took, you know.”

 

“Tell your Baggins side it’s only good manners,” Sig suggested.

 

“My Baggins side wants to know where his thank you letter is,” Bilbo said dryly.

 

“Damn those Baggins manners,” Sig joked, bumping Bilbo back; and they walked that way into Hobbiton, where they parted with promises to see each other soon.

 

And as spring faded and summer came on, they did see each other often.  Sig would come to Bag End, and they would swim in Bywater Pool and steal Farmer Maggot’s berries; or Bilbo would go to Tuckborough, and they would tromp through the meadows for coneys and tease Flambard for becoming a family man.  Bilbo was amused to see that confident Sig became tongue-tied and very quiet when Jessamine Boffin was visiting.

 

“I thought I was looking for them young,” Bilbo teased Sig one morning as they returned from an unsuccessful hunting trip.  “She’s just barely a tween!”

 

“Don’t, please, Bilbo,” Sig said, and Bilbo quieted.  “I am so raw about it.  I can’t even say hello to her, and she doesn’t know me but as one of those thousands of Tooks.”

 

“I’m sorry I teased you so,” Bilbo said.  “You truly can’t speak to her?”

 

“No, and I know how ridiculous it is,” Sig replied.  “A grown Hobbit of thirty-four, near thirty-five, too shy to court a tween.  But there it is.”  He kicked a nearby clump of grass.  “And I will lose her to another.  Many Hobbits begin to court her.”

 

“Befriend one of her friends, and you can gradually grow used to being near her, and you will be able to speak,” Bilbo suggested.  Sig still kicked his clump of grass.

 

“Tried it,” he said.  “Though her friends are vapid creatures, and I was glad to stop.  Fennel Burrows is the only decent one in the lot.”

 

“So talk to Fennel, mostly,” Bilbo said.  “It’s not like you to give up so easily!”  Sig looked up from his clump of grass (which was really looking rather ragged now) to direct a withering look at Bilbo.

 

“I will talk to Fennel Burrows if you will write to Fili,” he vowed.  “I will speak to Jessamine herself, if you will show me the letter and hand it to me to post.” 

 

Bilbo laughed.  “I don’t believe we either of us have it in us,” he said.  “How about I speak to Jessamine and you write to Fili.”

 

Sig’s eyes narrowed, and he put out his hand.  “My word on it,” he said.

 

Bilbo’s heart beat faster.  “I was joking, Sig,” he said.

 

“Still,” Sig answered.  He did not lower his hand.  “Do not think on the letter, if you don’t want to.  Think about the favour you are doing me.”

 

Bilbo shook his head.  “Sig...” he said.

 

“Bilbo...” Sig returned.

 

Bilbo thought on Sig, the quiet Sig he had seen around Jessamine.  He thought about kind and funny Sig, who had gone with him to the mountain and supported him through the most difficult situation.  His favourite cousin, his best friend.  He moaned, and shook Sig’s outstretched hand.

 

“Don’t show me the letter you write,” he said.  “I don’t think I can stand to know.  Only please don’t write ‘your manners are awful under the mountain’ or ‘you broke Bilbo’s heart.’”

 

“I make no promises about the first,” Sig said.  “Their manners _are_ awful under the mountain.”

 

When they returned to the Great Smials, Bilbo immediately made good his promise to Sig and went to greet Jessamine Boffin.  She was a _very_ pretty Hobbit lass, and seemed a kind and cheery sort; but Bilbo thought her friends were as vapid as Sig had said, and she herself a bit stupid.  Perhaps she was shy, but he didn’t think it; she was just in her tweens, silly about Hobbit boys and ribbons. 

 

Sig was right about one thing; she barely knew who he was.  Bilbo didn’t think she was good enough for Sig, but he had promised; so for the rest of his visit he spent some time every day speaking with the cluster of tween lasses.  Mostly it was torture; but as Sig had said, Fennel Burrows was a decent sort. 

 

In fact, Bilbo found her more than a decent sort:  she was kind, and patient; she told a wicked joke and laughed easily; and she wasn’t nearly as young or as stupid as the rest of the tweens.  She was not as pretty as Jessamine; but she was pretty enough, Bilbo thought, and very pretty indeed when she smiled.  Sig would do far better to look to her.  He wondered why he had not.

 

The last evening of his visit, he sat talking with Fennel as most of the young Hobbits danced, Jessamine included; and Sig joined them.  Sig was his usual self.

 

“I have done it,” he told Bilbo.  “I have written it, and sent it; and paid a herald to proclaim to all the mountain how very bad their manners are.”

 

Bilbo punched him on the arm and turned back to Fennel.  “I am sad to say that it is true; manners are exceeding bad on the mountain, and Sig seems to have caught it,” he said, but Fennel only nodded quietly, two pink circles on her cheeks.

_Oh, I see_ , Bilbo thought, and tried again.  “Sig, you were with me; and Fennel will not believe me alone.  Tell her just how bad they were.”  And Sig was off, telling of how they had been left standing on the doorstep twice, and had a door shut in their face once, and only once been invited to elevenses and once for tea tomorrow.  Fennel looked at her hands and blushed.

 

“And,” he concluded, “they have not a one sent a thank you letter for the gifts we sent them; so though it is the height of rudeness, I have written to tell them that it is the usual way to do so.  We think their manners so bad they will not know we are being rude as well.”

 

Bilbo bumped his shoulder.  “Very well,” he said.  “You are no longer needed here, but on the dance floor,” and indeed, Jessamine stood without a partner.  Sig stood, and turned red, and fidgeted, and in general hemmed and hawed until he had lost his chance; but then he wandered away dejectedly to watch Jessamine dance with Herugar Bolger.  Bilbo turned to Fennel. 

 

“They do sound very rude there on the mountain,” she tried.  “Do you think it is the dwarven influence?  I shouldn’t like to think so, but what else could be different there?”

_So much_ , Bilbo thought, but what he said was “Sig is sick over Jessamine Boffin, and you are sick over him.”

 

She turned so red, and seemed she might cry, that Bilbo hastened to comfort her.

 

“I think you far and away the better choice,” he said.  “It is only Sig who must be made to see it.”

 

Still her eyes were downcast.  “If he does not see it now, I do not know why that would change.  He loves her so.”

 

Bilbo took her hand and patted it gently.  “He does not; he only thinks he does.  You see it is an important difference.  He does not truly know her.”

 

She lifted her eyes to his.  Tentatively, she asked, “Do you really think it?  He doesn’t love her?”

 

Bilbo smiled at her.  “How could he?  He can’t even talk to her.  You, he knows.  You, he likes.  From there it is not such a big step to love.”

 

“He might not ever come to it,” she said.  “We might only ever be friends.”

 

Bilbo nodded.  “You might,” he agreed.  “But if he is lucky, it will turn to love.”

 

***

 

The next morning Sig walked with Bilbo as they cut across country towards the East Road and back towards Bag End.  It was the best sort of summer morning, cool and still, but with the promise of a warm and bright afternoon, so that the perfect day would be to walk in the morning and laze beneath green shade in the afternoon.  Sig, however, seemed perturbed about something.  Finally, as they parted, he spoke.

 

“I have just written to Fili for you,” he said.  “I would not have thought you fickle.”

 

Bilbo huffed.  “I think I am offended,” he told Sig.  “I don’t know why you would think it.”

 

“You seemed very close to Fennel yesterday eve,” Sig replied.  “It is not right to make love to such a young girl when you have hopes of another.”

 

_Ah_ , Bilbo thought.  _He is closer to love than I thought._   He slapped Sig gently across his head.

 

“You,” he said, “are a great fool for such a smart fellow.”

 

Sig slapped Bilbo right back across his temple.  “And you,” he said angrily, “are a cad who would keep two loves, neither of them knowing it, just like his mother.”

 

Bilbo dropped his knapsack and punched Sig right in the face.  Sig responded by swinging wildly back at him, and then they were rolling and swearing and fighting there in the summer meadow grass.  But it is not a Hobbity pastime, brawling, and soon they were warily facing each other across several feet.

 

“You _are_ a great fool,” Bilbo spat at Sig.  “You think you know yourself?  You do _not_ love Jessamine Boffin; you are half in love with _Fennel_!  At least!”

 

Sig’s face went from anger to confusion in seconds.  “But...” he trailed off.

 

“But,” Bilbo said, “You are a great jealous fool.”  Sig sat with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

 

“I am?” he asked Bilbo.

 

“You are, you dolt,” Bilbo replied.  “And you owe me an apology.”

 

Sig looked up then, his face white.

 

“Ah, Bilbo, I do,” he said.  “It was cruel, what I said to you; and I think I knew it could not be true as I said it.  I knew it wasn’t in you, but I was so angry...”

 

“I forgive you,” Bilbo said.  “If you will speak to Fennel when you return to Tuckborough, and because you will have a wicked black eye tomorrow.”

 

“You are too good,” Sig told him.

 

“Well,” said Bilbo, “you are my favourite cousin.  And if I did not forgive you, then it would have to be Flambard.”

 

****

**_An Interlude, in letters_ **

 

 

_To Fili, line of Durin, in Khazad-dûm:_

_You owe Bilbo a letter of thanks for those hair clasps, and you are an idiot not to write anyway.  He won’t write first.  It’s not done that way in the Shire._

_Sigismond Took_

 

 

**To Bilbo Baggins, Bag End, Hobbiton, in the Shire:**

**I am not good with words.  I wish you back at the mountain, that I could show you how I miss you.  I wear your green clasps on my braids though Kili still teases me, and I will not take them off.**

**Dwarves do not falter.  I feel the same as I did.**

**Fili**

 

 

_To Fili, line of Durin, in Khazad-dûm,_

_You are good enough with words._

_I thought of it before, my green clasps in your lovely hair; but now I think of nothing but.  My da has gone half mad with frustration trying to talk to me, for I only sit and daydream._

_I don’t know when I may come to the mountain next, but I think I must.  I have stayed away thus far only because you did not write, and I thought your feelings faded.  Now you pull me to you, and I may resist a while; but I will come._

_Always yours,_

_Bilbo_

 

 

**To Bilbo Baggins, Bag End, Hobbiton, in the Shire:**

**My Bilbo,**

**Am I your lodestone, then?  Shall I pull you to me with thoughts of you?  I think on you, always.  Come.**

**Could I come to the Shire, I would; but Uncle would never allow it ‘till I am of age.  Until I see you next, I bid you:  think of me.**

**I do not falter.**

**Fili**

 

 

_To Fili, line of Durin, in Khazad-dûm:_

_My sweet Fili,_

_Now I think of you: green clasps in your hair, and you in the green Shire.  It fills me with such longing; everywhere I go, I see you.  But I understand your Uncle’s hesitation; and truly, he is right.  You are yet young._

_I told myself that all the way as I trekked to Rivendell, and then home to the Shire, and yes—as I bought clasps for your braids:  you are yet young.  Should you change your mind, you must tell me; I shall love you, but I would let you go before I held you against your will._

_Only tell me if you can before my birthday, as I hope to travel to the mountain by then._

_Always yours,_

_Bilbo_

 

 

**To Bilbo Baggins, Bag End, Hobbiton, in the Shire:**

**My Bilbo,**

**When you come to the mountain, I shall show you how little I have changed my mind.**

**I would count the days until your birthday, but I do not know it:  it tortures me to know you come but not know when.**

**I am a Dwarf, and we are of stone, and stone does not change.  I do not, I will not, falter.**

**Fili**

 

 

_To Fili, line of Durin, in Khazad-dûm:_

_My sweet Fili,_

_My birthday is September 22 nd.  Expect me then._

_Always yours,_

_Bilbo_

 

 

**Bilbo Baggins, Bag End, Hobbiton, in the Shire:**

**I do not know you, and I cannot like that you write to my nephew.  I am told you are an adult Hobbit of the Shire; and he is yet a youth, and my heir, and your acquaintance was very short.**

**Do not think that you can take advantage of him.  He is of the line of Durin, and I will watch over him well.**

**He tells me you intend to return to the mountain in the fall.  I suggest that you think again of the wisdom of this course.**

**Thorin II**

**King under the Mountain, Khazad-dûm**

 

 

_To His Majesty, Thorin II, King under the Mountain, Khazad-dûm:_

_I thank you for your kind letter.  Your graciousness and welcome have overwhelmed me.  Truly, my cousin and I continue to be amazed at the manners at the mountain._

_Fili is indeed full young; yet I wonder if you know him, that you should write that I might take advantage of him.  He is no fool.  I do not think anyone could take advantage of him despite his youth, and I would not.  I would never._

_Nevertheless I consider it a great relief that Fili has relatives that love him so, and guard him closely.  I hope that when I come to the mountain, we may meet; and I may assure you of how closely I guard his heart.  I shall not give him up unless he tells me to himself._

_Most sincerely,_

_Bilbo Baggins_


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's return to Khazad-dûm.

 

 

It was September 3rd when Bilbo set out down the road to Sarn Ford.  He could not make himself wait any longer; indeed, the only reason he had not packed in a flurry and ran down the road when he received Fili’s first letter, or his second, or the one after that, was because of his da.  He hated to leave him again so soon when he had not yet been back six months.  But if he had resisted his own longing, he could not resist Fili’s, and with each letter it grew harder to bear.  He must return to the mountain, and to Fili.

 

He worried yet that Fili might have changed his mind or that somehow it would be different between them.  When he did, in his camp in the evening, he would take out Fili’s letters and read them again and again.  Each time, Fili had promised him:  _I will not falter_.  Bilbo must believe it; and he knew he had not changed.  He did not know how they had come to love each other so in so few days, but they had.  Bilbo knew it was a rare gift.

 

Though he made good time, it seemed a longer trip down the Greenway this time; not only because he knew that Fili waited at the end, but also because this time he travelled without Sig.  Sig would have come, but did not truly want to leave Fennel; and Bilbo would not ask it of him, especially because Bilbo did not know when, or if, he would return to the Shire.  He did not care especially for the mountain’s manners, and he dreaded the encounters with his mother that he knew would happen; but Fili was there.  Bilbo did not know if he would be able to leave Fili anymore, if Fili did not want him to.

 

It was September 19th, then, that he began to pass the farms that would lead to Hollin.  He had thought to go to Uncle Isengrim’s first, to leave his pack and bathe, but he found his feet took him right past Isengrim’s door and continued up the hills to Khazad-dûm.  So he was road weary and dusty when he came to the Doors of Durin, but he did not care.  Soon he would see Fili.

 

The first Dwarf he saw, however—at least the first Dwarf he knew—was Dwalin.  Dwalin shook his head, but walked forward to greet him.

 

“I thought you’d come,” he said.  “But make no mistake, the earth will shake when Thorin knows.  Maybe you’d better send Fili a note telling him you wait in Hollin.”

 

“Does all the mountain read my private correspondence?” Bilbo asked the hall at large, before he turned back to Dwalin.  “Do you know where I might find Fili now?”

 

“He’s with the king, and they meet with council,” Dwalin said.  “You will not interrupt them there.”

 

“No,” Bilbo said.  “Though manners are different here, mine are Shire manners, and Baggins manners.  When might I meet him that I will not be interrupting?”

 

Dwalin looked him up, then down.  “Go to his quarters after dinner, I would guess,” he said.  “But if you meet Thorin on the way, run.  And don’t tell him I sent you.”

 

So Bilbo went back down to Hollin and Uncle Isengrim’s after all; and was gratified to see how gladly Isengrim greeted him, and to have the chance to wash the road away (and perhaps to change into his best green waistcoat and burgundy jacket).  He whiled away the day until dinner, and his conversation at dinner was so distracted that Uncle Isengrim gave up on him.

 

“Go on, then,” he said.  “I can see you will be absolutely hopeless until you see him, and I expect you’ll be hopeless after as well; but better a happy hopeless than a pining hopeless.”  And he shooed him out the door.

 

Bilbo remembered nothing of the walk from Hollin to Khazad-dûm in the evening light, or of the bustle of the mountain city in the evening, not until he found himself in front of Fili’s door.  He knocked, and was surprised to hear Kili shout through the door, “Oh, please go away and just leave it!”

 

But Bilbo would not, so he knocked again.  Kili threw the door open, already speaking.

 

“He will not listen, Uncle, and I do not see—“ and then he saw Bilbo, and he whooped, and pulled him inside, and slammed the door shut behind him.

 

“Ah ha, Fili!” he shouted.  “Perhaps you would like to come out now!”

 

From another room Bilbo heard a muffled shout.  “Why should I come tell Uncle he is a great idiot and a bully once again?  I don’t want to see you, Uncle; go away!”

 

Bilbo began to see how manners had deteriorated on the mountain, and he was forced to agree with Fennel:  it was the Dwarven influence.  Else he would not have done what he did next.  He was glad his da was not there to see him shout from one room to another.

 

“Will you not come see me?” he yelled.  “It is a long way from the Shire, to only shout at you.”

 

And in mere moments, Bilbo found he had been pushed so that his back was against the wall, and there was a flurry of Fili against him.  Fili was covering his face with kisses; he seemed almost frenzied with it; and Bilbo thought he was not much better himself.

 

“Ugh, enough,” Kili said from somewhere.  “Go to your room, Fili; I don’t want to have to watch.”

 

Fili drew back enough to say, “That is an excellent idea,” and took Bilbo by the hand.  He led him through an archway and down a hall, and through a door; and then he shut the door and turned, and his look was so fierce, Bilbo moaned just to see it, and Fili jumped into his arms and pushed him down onto the bed.

 

“It is still three days until your birthday,” he said.  His hands were busy with Bilbo’s buttons.

 

“Yes,” Bilbo managed.  If he had led almost a year ago in Isengrim’s garden, Fili overwhelmed him now.  Fili’s shirt— _curse it_ —had laces instead of buttons, and Bilbo had no idea how he had managed them before.  He could only tangle and tear ineffectually at them while Fili had his waistcoat and shirt undone and open and his mouth on Bilbo’s nipple— _ah, he remembered_ —and Bilbo moaning Fili’s name and writhing beneath him.

 

Finally he could no longer stand it, and he rolled Fili over and pinned him to the bed.

 

“You must let me touch you,” he chided him, rolling his hips against Fili’s. 

 

“It has been too long,” Fili complained, reaching for him.

 

“It has been too long for me as well,” Bilbo replied, and he held Fili’s hands together above his head, and sat up, and shifted so he could draw the dagger he had seen at Fili’s waist.  He began to cut Fili’s laces, one by one, and laughed to see Fili’s eyes widen and feel his hips buck.

 

“Shh,” he said as he moved to Fili’s trousers.  “Do not move too much; I would not cut you,” and Fili _moaned_ so that Bilbo paused and moved the knife back up to caress Fili’s face.  “Well,” he said.  “I might pretend to,” but he had to move the knife away quickly as Fili shook and thrashed beneath him.  Bilbo set the knife aside on the table by Fili’s bed and did the rest by hand.  He thought Fili liked the idea a little too well to be loose when they tried it.

 

And then Fili was laid out before him, and he could hold to control no more.  Bilbo rolled them to lay on their sides, and reached between them with one hand and brought his other to Fili’s hair—the braids did have the green clasps; they were lovely in his hair—and he did all he could to wring as many sweet gasps from Fili as he was able. 

 

As it turned out, that was a great many.  He did not return to Uncle Isengrim’s that night.

 

***

 

In the morning, for one moment he regretted it, for he was woken by the roaring from the other room of Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain in Khazad-dûm.  But then Fili rolled in his arms, and he could regret nothing.  He kissed him and rose from the bed.  It was adorable how he could sleep through this, for Fili stirred and stretched but did not quite wake.

 

Bilbo dressed and went to the parlour.  Kili was standing in the archway between the king and the hall to the bedrooms, and Bilbo was very glad for it when he thought what Thorin would have found there.

 

“Good morning,” Bilbo said.  He ushered them into the parlour (perhaps it was presumptuous in another’s home, but he would not do this standing in the hall).  “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

 

Thorin II, Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, _growled_ at him.

 

Kili groaned.  “Honestly, Uncle,” he said.  “Bilbo’s not _that_ bad.”

 

Bilbo grinned at Kili.  “I thank your highness; you are too kind.”

 

“I told you not to come,” Thorin said.  “He is too young for you, Hobbit; and you knew him a week!”

 

“Four days,” Bilbo corrected him.  “Yet though I was much preoccupied, still I found Fili all that was amiable.”

 

“You found him _amiable_ ,” Thorin spat.  “I bet you did, you lecherous—“

 

“Uncle!” Kili protested.  “You do not know Bilbo!  I think he really does love Fili, and I know what Fili feels for him.”

 

“I have the—“ Bilbo began, but then Fili called from his bedroom.

 

“Bilbo?  Bilbo, come back to bed.”

           

Bilbo closed his eyes.  Thorin grasped Bilbo by the lapels and hoisted him into the air.

 

“I will _kill_ you, you miserable Hobbit,” he cried.  “I will grind your bones to dust and feed them to the forges.”

 

Bilbo heard scrambling from Fili’s bedroom, but when Fili appeared he thought it would have been better had he taken a moment longer; for he wore his breeches from yesterday, which he must hold up, as they hung loosely from his hips with half the laces cut open.

 

Thorin began to shake Bilbo.  “You defiler of children,” he growled.  “You contemptible lech.  They will never find your body.”

 

Fili grabbed awkwardly at his uncle’s arms, but was less than successful, as he needed one hand to hold up his trousers.  Kili tried to help him on the other side, but it appeared that the king’s formidable reputation was well deserved.

 

“I love him,” Bilbo gasped out.  “I would never hurt him!”

 

“Uncle!”  Fili cried.  “Put him down and let us talk like civilized Dwarves!”

 

Thorin growled, but he lowered Bilbo to the floor—roughly, but Bilbo was glad to be on the ground once more.  Fili clung to him.

 

“Are you well?” he asked.  “I am so sorry.”

 

“Your uncle loves you,” Bilbo told him gently.  “It is not a bad thing.”  He looked at Thorin.  “Though I could wish he had better trust in your judgment.”

 

“He is a child,” Thorin snarled.

 

“He is young,” Bilbo replied, “but a child he is not.”

 

Fili sighed.  “He can speak for himself.”

 

Bilbo caught Fili’s hand and brought it to his lips.  “Indeed you can,” he said, and his reward was a bright smile from Fili and another growl from Thorin.  Kili, he noted wryly, had retreated as soon as he could.

 

Fili turned to his uncle, but he remained close to Bilbo’s side.  “In many things, Uncle, you have impressed upon me that I must choose wisely and well, though at times I will not have space for deliberation.  You have allowed me voice in your council, and you have told me before that I have shown wisdom beyond my years.  Is it so hard for you to allow me my choice here, in this?  I choose this Hobbit, and I believe I have chosen well; though the choice was made quickly.”

 

Bilbo brought Fili’s hand to his lips again; he could not do anything else.  His eloquent Fili! 

 

Thorin, however, seemed unmoved.  “Most Dwarves do not marry until they are one hundred,” he stated firmly; his arms crossed his chest.

 

“I cannot measure myself by most Dwarves,” Fili replied.  “I love as I do.”

 

Thorin seemed to waver then, a little.  “I cannot like it,” he said.  “You are too young to know what love is.”

 

Fili smiled.  “Oh, Uncle,” he said.  “I have loved and been loved all my life:  by Mother, and Kili, and you; and now I love and am loved by Bilbo.  I know what it is.”

 

“My son speaks well,” said another voice from across the room, and Bilbo turned to see Kili and a female Dwarf who could only be Fili and Kili’s mother.  He bowed to her, and wished again that Fili wore more clothing.  He saw her eyes flick from his bare chest to his cut laces.

 

Still, she was regal as she crossed the room.

 

“I am Dís,” she said, and waited.

 

Bilbo bowed again.  “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

 

“I am pleased to finally meet you, Bilbo Baggins,” she said, “as my son has mooned distractedly over you these many months.  I admit I was not sure what to expect, though I generally find he has good judgment.  And Kili liked you, which is also a recommendation.  Still.  I wanted to see for myself.”  Bilbo found himself liking this dwarven lady:  she was brusque, but her straightforwardness was honest rather than rude.

 

She turned to Fili.  “I will tell you what I do not like, though I suspect you have thought of it and dismissed it in youthful impetuousness.  Yet I will say it:  you are young to fall in love, and he is a Hobbit.”  Her face filled with a tender sorrow.  “I would not see you mourn him half your life.”

 

Bilbo felt the room grow cold around him.  He had not thought it.  He had not thought on the difference in lifespan between Hobbit and Dwarf; he would die not long into Fili’s second century, with likely one more yet in his life.  He did not like it either.  He took a step back, and his hand dropped Fili’s.

 

Fili turned to him and must have seen something in his face.

 

“Bilbo?” he asked. 

 

Bilbo shook his head.  “I cannot,” he said.  “I cannot do that to you.”  He stepped away from Fili.

 

But Fili would not let him go.  He grabbed for Bilbo’s hand again, and held it tightly.

 

“I know you would not wish it for me, Bilbo,” he said.  “And maybe it is a painful thing, but it is already done. I love you, and I will love you and mourn you whether you are here with me or leave me alone to return to your Shire.  Bilbo.”  He tilted Bilbo’s chin up, and kissed him gently.  “I am a Dwarf.  _I will not falter_.”

 

Dís sighed.  “I wish you every happiness, my son,” she said, and kissed his cheek, then brought her forehead to his.  She did the same to Bilbo.  Kili followed in his turn; and even Thorin, though Bilbo thought he did his best to knock Bilbo unconscious when smashing their foreheads together.  When they were done and had left, Fili moved closer yet to Bilbo and nuzzled into his neck.

 

“Bilbo,” he murmured.  “Come back to bed.”  Bilbo went.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Resolution...of Sorts.

 

 

Bilbo went back to Uncle Isengrim’s later that day, however Fili protested; he had already abused his sense of propriety far beyond what he had been raised to think right; he would not begin to live with Fili until and unless they were married.  Privately, he swore a wedding would occur as soon as they could manage.  Already he knew Fili would bend him past the stipulated rules of conduct for engaged couples—far past, he suspected. 

 

Uncle Isengrim was delighted to see him, and ribbed him gently about his disappearance last night lasting until the following morning.  Bilbo assured him that he would not lose him entirely as a houseguest.

 

“There is still too much Shire in me—and Baggins too—for me to forget myself entirely.  Though I will admit to being hard pressed.”

 

Uncle Isengrim only laughed.  “The mountain will not know what to do with a Baggins,” he chortled.  “I shall enjoy being so close to the show!”

 

Indeed, the ‘show,’ as he called it, began to come to Isengrim’s.  Fili began to neglect all his duties to come to Hollin when Bilbo was not in Khazad-dûm.  Thorin would send Kili, or a young scribe named Ori, or in the worst of cases, Dwalin, to come fetch him when he was needed; until Bilbo sat Thorin down and Bagginsed him into telling Bilbo Fili’s schedule, and promising that he would ensure that Fili attended when he was needed.  Bilbo was able to do so only by increasing amounts of bribery, until he might not be living with Fili in Khazad-dûm, but Fili was all but living with him in Hollin.

 

Somewhere into this mess, Amy came to be a regular visitor.  As they grew to know each other, Bilbo found in her a staunch confidant.  One rare elevenses when they were alone, Bilbo repeated Dís’ words to her.

 

“He tells me that already he would mourn for me, and that is the only reason I can stand it,” Bilbo said.  “I would not have touched him had I known I would bring him one hundred fifty years of mourning.  It is too cruel.”

 

Amy nodded.  “It is not an issue most times.  Thorin was right; most Dwarves are one hundred before they even begin to think of marriage.  Though they may be longer lived than Hobbits, still they will not mourn for most of their lives.  Our mother and Dwalin, for example:  Dwalin was near one hundred fifty years when they met.”  She winced.  “I should have found a better example.”

 

Bilbo squeezed her hand.  “We shall have to learn to speak of her,” he said.  “She is a part of your life, and I hope to be a part of your life as well.”

 

Amy met his eye.  “But not hers?  Not a part of her life?” she asked.

 

Bilbo sighed.  “I cannot see it,” he said.

 

“I cannot imagine it,” Amy said.  “I can’t know what it was to grow up without a mother, and it is unbelievable to me that it should be _my_ loving mother who should have let her firstborn go so easily.  But I cannot imagine choosing not to have her in my life.”

 

“I do not think that is the choice I have,” Bilbo said gently.  “For I did not grow up with her, and I do not know her; and I have all the pain of knowing that she let me go.  I know you wish us to reconcile, Amy, but I do not think it can happen.”

 

“I only wish I knew why,” Amy said.

 

“I do know why,” Bilbo said.  “It can be the best reason in the world; still, some damage can only be survived, not undone.”

 

“Would you speak to her again?” Amy asked.

 

“I do not know what I could say,” Bilbo replied.  “I think she has been hurt enough, as have I.”

 

But Bilbo suspected that Amy had not given up.  She had a tween’s romantic hope that all would be right between Bilbo and Belladonna if only they might meet enough times.  She began by begging Bilbo to meet her at her mother’s smial instead of coming to him, and then she set up ‘chance’ meetings in the Hollin market or in the city.  Finally Bilbo told her to stop.

 

“You torture her,” he chastised.  “You have seen yourself how painful my presence is to her, and yet you insist on pricking her like this.  It is not kind.”

 

“You don’t know,” she retorted.  “She asks about you, all the time; and half the time we go to the market I see her looking for you; and she tells me that you may come to visit at the smial anytime, but she can’t spare me to go to Uncle Isengrim’s.”

 

Bilbo shook his head.  “I don’t know what she wants, but I don’t think it is in me to give.”

 

Still Amy did not give up, but enlisted Fili and Kili to interfere as well.  Kili’s efforts were half-hearted at best; but one evening as they sat by the fire, Fili did engage in convincing Bilbo to repair his relationship with his mother.

 

“It is not a matter of repairing it,” Bilbo told him.  “It is not there.  I would be building with air on a foundation of molten rock.”

 

“When such rock cools and sets, it is often the strongest of stones,” Fili replied.  He moved from his seat across from Bilbo to lounge with his head in Bilbo’s lap.  Fili’s hair was soft under his hands.

 

“I should not try to use stone metaphors with Dwarves,” Bilbo grumbled.  “They know too much.  My point is this:  I am yet too angry, and a happy relationship cannot begin that way; and I am a Hobbit grown, soon to be married, I hope—“ He paused to kiss Fili’s palm.  “We do not have the years of my childhood that I would have learned that she loved me, and I loved her in return.”

 

Fili reached to caress Bilbo’s cheek.  “I only want a mother’s love for you.  I want all that is good for you, and it pains me that you went without her,” he said.

 

Bilbo drew Fili’s hand back to his mouth, and kissed his palm again.

 

“I have all that I want and all that is good right here,” he replied.

 

***

 

For all that Amy and Fili and, to a lesser extent, Kili, pressed him to see Belladonna, he was not prepared for Dwalin to come to call.  Dwalin did not engage in any pleasantries; he would not sit or take tea, but only began to speak as soon as Uncle Isengrim left the parlour.

 

“It tears her up,” he said.  “I see you with Amy and Calin and Esmie, and I knew you are not a cruel Hobbit; but this is cruel.”

 

“Should I leave for the Shire again?” Bilbo asked.  “I won’t; and I don’t know what else might help.”

 

“That wouldn’t help anyway,” Dwalin told him.  “She thinks of you now every time she looks at our children.  Every hug, every kiss, every moment with them she is reminded that she did not have that with you.”

 

Bilbo crossed his arms.  “She _gave that up_ with me,” he corrected.

 

“That only makes it worse,” Dwalin replied.  “If it were another Hobbit that was so wounded, and you could help; you would.  Won’t you help her?”

 

“I do not think I can,” Bilbo said.  “It is too late for anything but an acquaintanceship.  Wouldn’t that be worse?  And—I do not think I can.”

 

“Do you know what she did, what she gave up—“ Dwalin began, but Bilbo stopped him.

 

“I do,” he said.  “Elrond told me, in Rivendell.  He convinced me that it was a great good that she did, and that she gave up much to do it.  It is only that she gave up her husband and her son as well.”

 

Dwalin hung his head.  It was strange to see such a powerful dwarf so defeated.

 

“It was my fault,” he said.  “I was half in love with her before we began the trip to Mordor; and to see her strength, and what it took from her—when she needed healing afterwards I offered a comfort that did not belong to me.  I knew it was wrong.  Even though such things are accepted here, one speaks first; and all must agree.”

 

Bilbo all unwilling found that he pitied Dwalin.  “If you had spoken first, I do not think my father would have ever agreed.”

 

Dwalin nodded.  “I think I knew it; but still I took what was not mine to take.”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo said, “but neither was she free to give it.  Your culpability does not absolve her.  And this is her transgression against my father, not me.  I do not like what happened, but I understand it and could look beyond it.  It is the years that followed that cut the deepest.”

 

“Ah,” said Dwalin.  “Ah.”

 

“Do you see?” Bilbo asked.  “If she sees her neglect of me when she looks at her other family; well, when I look at them, I see it too.”

 

Dwalin nodded again and went away.  Bilbo retreated to his room.  It seemed he must somehow seek closure with his mother; else this would hang over his entire life with Fili.  He sighed and hid his face in his hands.  He did not know how he could do this, but it must be done.  At least, he must try.  He went to speak to Uncle Isengrim.  Isengrim was good at scooting away, but Bilbo would need true privacy for this.

 

 

_To Belladonna Took, Hollin_

_If you like, please come to elevenses tomorrow._

_Bilbo Baggins_

 

 

 

It was promptly eleven when Belladonna knocked on Isengrim’s door.  Bilbo opened it and ushered her into the parlour.

 

“Welcome,” he said.  “Uncle has gone visiting, and shall not be back in time; but I think we have a proper elevenses nevertheless.”

 

Belladonna nodded.  “I am sure it will be quite lovely,” she said hesitantly.  “Do I smell apple tart?”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo said, “just cooling in the kitchen.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ll bring them now.”  He went to the kitchen and quickly returned with the tray of apple tarts.  He could see Belladonna was nervous; he had expected it; but he found that he was nervous too.

 

He set the tray carefully on the table.

 

“They look beautiful,” Belladonna said.  “It seems a shame to eat them.”

 

“They’re Da’s recipe,” Bilbo told her, “and he always says food can be nice to look at but is better to eat.”

 

Belladonna pursed her lips and nodded.  She seemed disconcerted at the mention of Bilbo’s father, her Hobbit husband.  “Yes,” she said.

 

Bilbo served her a tart, and poured her tea, and passed the cream, all on his best Baggins manners.

 

There was a bit too much silence between them, though; he could not claim to be the best host.  He did not know how to cross the gap that lay between them.  He did not know how to speak to her in such a way that they might heal.  Yet he must try, for the sake of his life here at the mountain.

 

“I believe I met a friend of yours last year, as I travelled to Rivendell,” he said.  “Gandalf the Grey was his name.”

 

Belladonna seemed animated for the first time.  “Yes, Gandalf is my very good friend,” she said.  “We had a great many adventures together.”  She seemed suddenly to remember that the topic of her adventures was not an easy one between them, and flushed.  “He has travelled far and wide across Middle Earth,” she continued more hesitantly.  “I hope you may have occasion to meet him again.  He has many wonderful tales to tell.”

 

“Indeed,” Bilbo agreed.  “He entertained Sig and I greatly on the way to Rivendell.”

 

“He did not come from Rivendell and your paths cross?” Belladonna asked, her tone puzzled.  “I know he did come to Khazad-dûm that fall, and I thought he came that way.”

 

“He did,” Bilbo said.  “I believe it was his concern for you, and thus for me as your son, that prompted him to turn and accompany us back the way he had come.  He mentioned some danger from wolves, and Orcs, along the way.”

 

Belladonna paled.  “You did not encounter any?” she asked.  “But you are fine,” she seemed to reassure herself.

 

“We encountered no trouble,” Bilbo told her.  “Neither on the way to Rivendell, nor on the way home to the Shire.  Nevertheless Gandalf insisted on returning to Rivendell with us.”

 

“He is a very good friend,” Belladonna said.  “And now I have another reason to be grateful to him.”

 

“You are too kind,” Bilbo said.  He could not do this.  He had either Baggins manners or his raw pain to speak from; he did not know how to speak frankly and still kindly to her.

 

Belladonna shook her head.

 

“You have not tried your tart,” Bilbo suggested.  _Oh, stupid_ , he thought.

 

She looked down at her plate, and put her fork to her tart; but only tore it into pieces rather than eat it.  Bilbo sighed and took the plate from her.

 

“This is too difficult for us,” he said.  “I know that we shall meet again, now that I will live at the mountain, and I am sorry if that brings you pain; but I think you see it, too; we are strangers.”

 

Belladonna shook her head, and Bilbo saw the fire of Took temper in her, and the hobbit she must have been to destroy the One Ring.

 

“You may feel me to be a stranger,” she said sharply, “but to me you are the child I loved, though I abandoned you; and I love you still.  I will not think of you as a stranger.  I do not and I will not.”

 

And then she began to cry softly.  Bilbo sighed and took her hands.

 

“You have a lovely family now,” he told her.  “You must remember that.  And I was happy growing up in the Shire, and I am very happy now.”

 

She clung to his hands, and still she cried.  Bilbo gently extricated one of his hands that he might offer her a handkerchief.  She took it and attempted to dry her tears, and gradually her crying subsided.

 

“You cannot forgive me?  You cannot allow me a place in your life?” she begged.

 

Bilbo shook his head.  “I am better than I was,” he said, “but I remain angry yet.  I hope that I continue to heal; but I do not know when, if ever, I might accept you into my life.”

 

Belladonna began to cry again.  “It was Bungo who took you away,” she sobbed.

 

“Yes, and I have been angry at Da as well,” Bilbo said as kindly as he could.  “But it was you who committed the act that destroyed your marriage, and it was you who let me go with him, and it was you who neither visited nor wrote nor gave me any sign in twenty-eight years that you thought of me at all.”

 

“I regret it very much.  Every day I am sorry for it, for what I did to you,” she cried.  “Does that mean nothing?”

 

Bilbo sighed.  “I do not know,” he said.  “I do not know how to measure your regret against my pain.”

 

They sat then as she cried until she could cry no more, and still she clung to his hands.  Bilbo felt very sorry for her, but everything he had said was true.  Her regret did not diminish his pain.

 

When Fili came to him that evening, after his responsibilities for the day were over, Bilbo curled inside the circle of his arms, and there he cried, as Fili held him tight.

 

“In a better world, it would not be so,” Bilbo told Fili.  “In a better world, great deeds would not have such bitter consequences.”

 

“Maybe,” Fili replied.  “I think it a fine world that has you in it.” 

 

Bilbo laughed, and rolled in his arms.  “You, sir,” he said, “are a flatterer.  And you claimed to have no way with words.”

 

Fili kissed him.  “It is only the truth,” he said.  “That is easy.”

 

Bilbo pulled away a little.  “In a better world, I would not leave you alone for so long,” he said.  “I am like the Shire in this:  I do not think I can share you while I am yet with you.  But after I am gone, promise me you will find another.”

 

Fili kissed him again.  “I will not,” he said.  “It is not the Dwarves who choose two families, here at the mountain.”

 

“Oh,” Bilbo said.  He felt his tears begin again.

 

“I will not forget you,” Fili said.  “Let me love you while I may.”

 

Bilbo nodded.  In a better world, things might have been different; but he lived in this one, and he was very grateful for what he had.  And then Fili’s mouth moved on his again, and his hands pulled Bilbo close, and all thoughts of anything but Fili left and Bilbo felt only desire.  Though when they lay still and close again, Bilbo brushed Fili’s braids away from his face, and kissed him chastely.

 

“I will not choose another,” he said.  “For I will not falter either.”


End file.
